Law and Justice
by Schattengestalt
Summary: Although the legal and ethical definitions of right are the antithesis of each other, most writers use them as synonyms. They confuse power with goodness, and mistake law for justice. Charles T. Sprading, Freedom and its Fundamentals A seemingly unspectacular case spirals out of control and leaves Watson and Holmes in a network of intrigues. Johnlock.
1. Motives

**Author Notes** : This story will be much longer than any of my other stories for the Sherlock fandom. As far as I can say, it will have around 8-10 chapters.^^ And don't worry if it takes me a little longer to update from time to time, most of this story is already written, I only need to find the time to edit it. :)

On a side note, I'm not an expert on British history and/or Victorian England, I did as much research as possible, but if you find any errors, feel free to point them out to me.^^

That said, enjoy the first chapter!

 **Motives**

 _In the year 1895, a series of rather unspectacular cases led to the most surprising outcome. It's safe to say that not even my dearest friend, Sherlock Holmes - the most extraordinary man of his time and only consulting detective of the world - had been able to predict it. Holmes and I have solved many cases and unraveled a lot of mysteries in our lifetime and I shared most of them with my faithful readers. I feel sorry for them now- sitting in front of my diary and writing down this episode of my life - because they will never get to read any of it._

 _The cases I`m writing about are neither classified by the British Government nor were we asked by a client to keep the story a secret. It's for Holmes and my own safety that this story will never see the light of day, to allow my friend and I to spend our sunset years in peace._

 _I'm sure that Holmes will call me a sentimental fool when he gets to read this entry, but he is busy with his bees right now and so I'm free to put our story down on paper and relive the events that redirected the course of our lives._

Everything started with a particular boring case. My friend wouldn't have accepted it, if Lestrade hadn't called in a favor from Holmes and forced him to investigate it. A young married couple had been exposed to various degrees of harassment since their wedding day and the police hadn't been able to find the culprit.

It must have shamed the Londoner inspectors to a large degree that Holmes was able to hand the delinquent over to them in a matter of hours after reading the file for the first time. The case neither ended in a chase through London nor in a life-or-death situation, Holmes and I occasionally found ourselves in. The conclusion of the case was as boring as the whole investigation, which had merely consisted of a few hastily written telegrams and the brilliant combinations of my friend. The only remarkable occurrence took place, when the culprit was arrested, which led to interesting revelations later on, but it wouldn't do any good if I got ahead of myself.

Holmes and I watched the proceedings as the man, a Mister Kingston, was hauled away in a hackney and Lestrade shook hands with the victim of the harassment, Mister Smith, while his wife cried on his shoulder. My friend Holmes had turned away from that emotional scene, his eyes scanning the rows of similar looking houses and probably making deductions about their inhabitants. I knew that he had to itch to go back to Baker Street and finish the experiment, that he had abandoned in favor of helping Lestrade. At least the unsatisfying case meant that Holmes wouldn't fall back in one of his depressive moods like he often did, after enjoying the high of chasing after a brilliant criminal for days.

"So, Mister Kingston stalked the Smith's family, killed their dog, wrote warnings with blood on their walls and destroyed their garden, because he couldn't win the heart of Mrs. Smith?"

I was aware that I was stating the obvious and that Holmes had already explained these facts to the Inspectors, but I couldn't help myself. On the one hand, I wanted Holmes' attention, before he got so focused on his experiments again to even notice that I was there and on the other hand... something about that explanation felt off. I couldn't put my finger on it, but the behavior of Mr. and Mrs. Smith had appeared odd to me. She hadn't even looked at Mister Kingston once or shown any other indication that she knew him. If he had truly been a former suitor, I had expected at least some emotions from her, but the woman had only started crying after everything had been over. And Mister Smith... he hadn't reacted to Mister Kingston either. I had witnessed situations, when the husband had been furious with jealousy after encountering a former suitor of his wife, without any added harassment needed, but Smith had just ignored Kingston and the latter...

"It appears that this is the case, my dear Watson. A rather boring affair, which occurs hundreds of times a year in London and I feel almost sorry that it hasn't led to a nice murder. At least, that would have made the wasted hours worthwhile."

I didn't correct my friend, since I was used to his eccentric views by now and I also felt disappointed by the whole affair. It wasn't even interesting enough to write about, although I still kept wondering if I hadn't missed something. Holmes mostly got the motives of people - for committing crimes - right, but it wouldn't be the first time that he had overseen something.

I glanced at his sharp profile, the way his eyes narrowed at the young couple, before he gestured to Lestrade that we would be on our way home. I couldn't read anything from his expression, but I promised myself that I would farther inquire about Kingston and Smith, when we were home again. Maybe Holmes would reveal some interesting piece of knowledge, when we were surrounded by the familiar walls of Baker Street once more.

OOO

The flames in the fireplace drove away the chills in the flat. I hadn't noticed just how cold it had been outside, until I had shed my cloak and hat. Mid March wasn't the best time to stand around in a street of London, without getting warmed up by a little chase through the city.

It was only past four o`clock and we wouldn't have dinner for at least another couple of hours, so I felt content to retrieve the newspaper and continue my interrupted reading. I had only made it halfway through the local news, when Holmes emerged from his bedroom. He had taken off his waistcoat and was only in his shirt sleeves and trousers. I assumed that he would go back to his interrupted experiment and prepared myself for hours of silence, interrupted only by terrible smells. My friend didn't like to be disturbed, when he was working with his precious chemicals and I was of the opinion that he deserved some peace, after he had been forced to work on such a mundane case for hours.

Imagine my surprise, when instead of moving to his worktable, Holmes sat down in his favorite armchair and lit his pipe. From the scent of the smoke, I was able to tell that he had chosen his strongest tobacco and I frowned slightly at that finding. Holmes only found the need to smoke when he was particular bored or when he was turning a problem over in his head. The latter was mostly connected to a very tiring case and it was only then when he resorted to his strongest brand of tobacco.

I glanced up from my newspaper and looked at Holmes. My friend was frowning down at the flames in the fireplace, his sharp profile highlighted by the warm light as he lost himself in his musings. I thought about inquiring what was bothering him, but then thought better of it. Holmes would share his findings with me, when he saw it fit and pushing the issue had never resulted in success.

No more than five minutes could have passed - I had just finished another page of the newspaper - when the voice of my friend startled me. "You were right, Watson."

I must have looked puzzled, since he bestowed me with one of his knowing smiles and went on. "Your observations about Kingston and Smith, which led you to the conclusion that my explanation about Kingston's motives wasn't exactly true, were correct."

I folded the newspaper and put it aside. A conversation with Holmes was by far more interesting than anything the reporters could come up with. "Does that mean that Kingston wasn't the culprit?"

A laugh escaped my friend as he inhaled from his pipe and shook his head, his pale blue eyes sparkling with amusement. "My dear chap, here I thought you knew me well enough by now to have learned that I wouldn't have allowed the police to arrest an innocent man, only to be proven wrong."

His words were delivered without any real heat and I couldn't help the grin that spread over my face. "We both know that you would allow it to happen, if it served a specific purpose, but since I can't see one here, I will believe you that Kingston is in fact responsible for harassing the Smiths. Still, I wonder what other motive - if not unrequited love - could have brought up his behavior."

"Oh, but you see, Watson, unrequited love was the motive."

I shook my head, not because I disagreed with Holmes, but because I didn't understand what he was getting at. Holmes had just stated that Kingston was the culprit, but that he hadn't revealed the whole truth about his motives to the police, so where did that leave us?

"Let's start slow, Watson. I'm quite sure I know why you are convinced that something about this whole case is off, but be so good and elaborate."

Usually, I hated it when Holmes told me that he had already deduced my whole thought process - especially since he had yet to be wrong about it - but this time it was kind of fun. Probably because Holmes had already confirmed that my suspicions were right and I also seemed to be the only one, who had noticed that something was amiss. It filled me with no small amount of pride as I explained what I had gathered from the behavior of the people, which were involved in the case. "Mrs. Smith didn't react in any way to Kingston, although she should have shown some sort of recognition if he had courted her and Kingston didn't even look at her once. I would have thought that he would declare his undying love to her or swear that he was going to kill her husband after he made her marriage a living hell."

"Oh, very good, Watson. I see, you have finally grasped the first observation skills, after more than a decade of my acquaintance, but that at least, is more than most Yarders can pride themselves on." I brightened at the honest compliment. It wasn't often that Holmes praised anyone and that made it all the more special for me.

"Now, my dear friend," Holmes packed his second pipe as he continued our conversation. "What conclusions do you draw from your observations?"

I furrowed my brow. I hadn't given that question much thought, only noted the odd behavior of certain people, but trusting my friend to enlighten me about it. Certainly, Holmes would be disappointed if I admitted this failure to him, so I forced myself to come up with some fairly logical explanation. "She didn't want to give Kingston the impression that she might still be interested in him and he didn't want to get in an even worse situation by drawing attention to himself in front of the police."

Holmes shook his head and sighed, but he still looked amused by my attempt at drawing conclusions. "I see that you haven't given the matter much thought, my friend, but I'll give you another chance to prove yourself. How did Mister Smith appear to you?"

I wrinkled my brow and tried to recall the unremarkable, young man, that I had only met a couple of hours ago. I remembered that I had thought that his hair was already too thin for a man, in his early thirties, and that it might have resulted from the stress he had been exposed to for over a year. His much too long nose and his nervous looking eyes had also gotten stuck in my mind, but I couldn't recall much else about him.

I retrieved a cigarette from my leather box - a gift from Holmes after I shot an especially ruthless murderer - and played for time as I lit it and inhaled deeply. When I didn't come up with any satisfying explanation, I just shook my head at Holmes. I had expected him to be disappointed in me, like he often was, when I couldn't follow his train of thoughts, but he only nodded like I had just proven some theory of his.

"You don`t remember much about Smith, because he behaved absolutely unimpressive and he did it on purpose. He didn't want any of us to focus on him and he was successful in that - mostly. Now," Holmes leaned back in his armchairs, sat his pipe down and fixed me with his sharp eyes. "What is the only logical explanation for the behavior of all three people?"

I shook my head again and lit another cigarette. It might have been possible for me to come up with some sort of explanation, but I felt that my friend itched to reveal his findings to me and I also rather enjoyed listening to Holmes' brilliant conclusions. So, I smoked and waited, until my friend decided that he had tested my patience long enough. "Mrs. Smith didn't react to Kingston in any way, because she didn't know him." I must have gasped, since Holmes grinned conspiratorially at me and continued. "Kingston and Mrs. Smith never met, today was the first time that they saw each other for more than a few minutes."

"How...," I started and Holmes gestured to the telegrams on the table. "Former friends of Mrs. Smith affirmed that they have never heard of Kingston before and that he certainly wasn't one of her suitors. He also wasn't invited to the wedding, so he didn't have any business with her."

I tried to wrap my head around these facts, but the more Holmes revealed the less sense the case made to me. "So why did he target the Smiths then, if he didn't even know them?"

"Oh, my dear Watson, you really should pay more attention to what I say and to what I don't say. Kingston might not have known Mrs. Smith, but he has known Smith since his first year of university. They took the same courses and even shared a flat in their senior year. There were rumors that they planned to travel to Greek together and make a living in Paris in the upcoming years."

Holmes patiently met my gaze, as if giving me one last chance to conclude the raw facts on my own. After mussing everything over, my friend, had just thrown at me, I found that it wasn't nearly as impossible as I had formerly thought. "Kingston didn't want to punish Mrs. Smith for the marriage, but he wanted to punish Smith for marrying her in the first place." I shook my head in awe as all the pieces fell into place. "Kingston and Smith were a special kind of friends, when they attended university and Kingston never got over the fact that Smith turned his back on him. Unrequited love, indeed." Holmes nodded in confirmation a slight smile playing around the corners of his lips.

I was amazed that this possibility hadn't crossed my mind sooner. In retrospect it was the only logical explanation, but I was aware that I wouldn't have unveiled the secret, if it hadn't been for the prompting of my friend. It wasn't that I had never heard of men who preferred the company of other men - I had served in the army after all - I had just never assumed that a bond between male lovers could lead to such jealousy. In my mind, the more passionate feelings like love and jealousy were reserved for relationships between a man and a woman. I blamed the army for this perception as well, since the soldiers had only turned to each other, when the primal needs of their bodies couldn't be ignored any longer.

"Remarkable." Holmes' voice brought me back to our conversation as I felt his sharp eyes watching me with growing interest.

"What is, Holmes?"

"You, my dear Watson, I would have thought that a gentleman like you would demand me to tell the police about my findings and condemn these two men to their punishments, although," he added with a small smile. "I hoped that you would prove me wrong for once."

"I don't see why I should demand such a thing, although I'm interested why you didn't tell the police about Kingston's true motives."

The blue eyes of my friend remained fixed on me for some time, searching my face for clues - God only knew which - like I had often seen him doing with culprits and witnesses alike. I couldn't fathom why he didn't answer me straight away, not until he offered me his explanation. "It wouldn't have made a difference, from my point of view, Watson. Kingston is guilty of harassing a family and he will be punished for it. If I had revealed his former relationship with Smith, he would have been more seriously punished, although he had still committed the same crime. Farther, Smith would also have been faced with an investigation and if word of it got around, he wouldn't have been able to gain footing in London again. All because of something the British Law considers a crime, although it doesn't hurt anyone."

After his little speech, my friend turned to watching the flames, seeming absolutely at ease as he packed his third pipe, but I wasn't fooled by his nonchalant posture. I knew him well enough, after years of working and living with him, to be able to tell from the tense set of his shoulders and the way the muscles of his arm flexed almost nervously that Holmes was on high alert. It was understandable, since men had been arrested for less than expressing their solidarity with those, that were considered _sodomites_ by most of the British population. Even Lestrade would have been forced to investigate, had I felt the inclination to tell the Inspector about our conversation. That thought never crossed my mind though. I wouldn't have betrayed Holmes' trust in me, even if I hadn't agree with him, but since I didn't find any fault with his little speech, there was no need to entertain treacherous thoughts at all. After all, if two consenting men were drawn to each other, the only people that suffered from it would be the maidens that were smitten with them and they would easily find someone else to marry. I was mostly content with the law, but I couldn't find it in myself to agree with it on this point.

"I agree with you," was all I offered my friend.

I watched in amazement as the strained lines disappeared from Holmes' face and his whole body relaxed. "That's good Watson, very good."

We passed the remainder of the evening with smoking and dinner, Holmes going back to his experiment, while I refreshed my medical knowledge with the newest scientific articles. I thought the case of the _Lovesick Tyrant -_ as I kept calling it in my head - was over and that we wouldn't discuss the matter, that was brought up in its wake again... I had never been so wrong in my entirely life.


	2. Could be Dangerous

**Author Notes:** I must apologize for the late update, but RL (and especially the College part of it) kept and still keep me busy.^^ Please bear with me, I will update as often as possible.

Enjoy the new chapter for now! :)

 **Could be dangerous**

 _I swear here, on the private pages of my diary that I`ll never wish for a near death situation again, especially not for one in which the life of my friend, Holmes, is at immediate risk, but in chronological order._

It was almost a month after the enlightening conversation with Holmes, when a series of gruesome murders got the attention of my brilliant friend. At the time, five men had been found stabbed to death, in some back road or another, over the course of seven days. I didn't know where Holmes got his information from, since the newspapers neither revealed any details about the victims nor would I have seen a connection between the murders. The short articles only reported, every time, that a man had been found dead and that he hadn't died of natural cause. Usually, the journalists were much more throughout with their investigations and I would have thought that they would have reported by now if a serial killer was suspected of the crimes. Neither did that happen nor did Lestrade or anyone else from the Yard knock on our door to seek out the help of my friend. Still, I didn't doubt Holmes one second, when he broke to me that only one man was responsible for all these murders. He had a way of seeing patterns, where everyone else only saw chaos and I was ready to help him with his investigations should he have need of me.

The occasion didn't arise as fast as I would have liked. Holmes fell back in one of his old habits of appearing and disappearing in one of his many disguises for a week, in which I didn't hear or see much of him. I couldn't even guess where he went and so I occupied my time with reading and enjoying the first warm spring days as I ventured outside, but all the while I hoped that my friend would take me on another adventure yet again. My prayers were answered on the seventh afternoon, after Holmes had started his investigations.

"Do you have plans for this evening, Watson?"

I smiled at my friend. He knew that I spent most of my evenings in his company these days and I would have told him if I planned on going out to a pub with my mates from the club. Therefore, I treated the question as a rhetorical one as I turned my whole attention to Holmes. "Where are we going?"

A predatory smile pulled Holmes' lips upwards as he sat down cross-legged in his armchair. "I'll pay a visit to a pub called _The seven sirens_ and spend a couple of hours in this establishment, before I'll leave. You, my dear Watson, will have to wait outside, without being seen and follow me as soon as I leave. I'm sure that our killer will also be hard on my heels at that point. I have made sure, this past week, that he has become aware of me and feels the need to vanish me off the face of this earth."

I leaned back in my armchair and grabbed for one of my cigarettes, although my body was urging for something stronger. Usually, I didn't indulge in drinking at this early an hour, but I felt the sudden need to settle my nerves with a cognac. It weren't news to me that Holmes set himself up as the lure for a criminal - he had done so often enough - and I hadn't questioned this method so far, but this time there appeared to be more at stake than usual. My friend had invited murderers, thieves and blackmailers to our flat, but every time these traps had been set up very carefully. Firstly, the police had always been involved and the culprit had always had to act on Holmes' terms. The risk of failure had been low on these occasions, this time though...

"You don't seem to agree with my plan, Watson. If you are afraid for my safety, then consider that I intend to take one of the best shooters in England with me." I smiled slightly at the subtle compliment, but Holmes' words weren't enough to put my mind at ease. " _The seven sirens_..."

"Ah," Holmes clapped his hands together and nodded at me. "Excellent, you are already aware what kind of pub it is. Did they warn you in the army that it would be a bad idea to be seen in there and that you should stay away from it?"

It wasn't a real question, but I still nodded. There were many pubs in London, which were frequented by a special sort of men and although their names or locations might change, everyone who paid a little attention could figure out where they were. I was a little amazed that _The seven sirens_ still existed, since our officer had warned us from exactly that pub, when I had started my military career years ago. Most of these pubs were closed by the police at some point, since they were considered a shame for London. I suspected that only the more exclusive establishments were protected from such consequences. Establishments, where the lower classes weren't welcome.

"I hope you aren't too shocked that I spent the last week at this establishment, my dear chap."

I furrowed my brow as I regarded Holmes' rigid posture. So far, I hadn't contemplated what my friend would have had to do in order to pass as one of the regular patrons. I didn't think that he had followed one of these men home, since I couldn't picture Holmes being so careless, but he would have had to do _something._ I grinded my teeth as I imagined him at the bar, exchanging meaningful innuendos with strangers or worse allowing one of them to... _touch_ him in a dark back alley behind the pub. The anger at that thought must have radiated from my face, since Holmes averted his gaze.

"I see."

I blinked as I noticed the resignation in his tone as he fixed his eyes on the flames in the fireplace. Was it possible that Holmes had misinterpreted my expression for the first time since I knew him? The thought was almost blasphemous, but I couldn't come up with any other explanation for his sudden mood swing.

"If you are so uncomfortable with it, then I won't ask you to accompany me, Watson." I practically jumped up from my armchair as Holmes got up and hurried in the direction of his bedroom. Before I could think about it, my hand had grabbed his wrist to hold him back. His sharp blue eyes focused on me and it took my whole courage to meet his gaze. It was always a little irritating to look into his eyes, which seemed able to feel out every secret about a person. "I won't let you go on your own, Holmes and I'm not uncomfortable with the location."

My friend regarded me with an unreadable look. "Yet, you were angry, when you thought about what I must have done this past week."

I nodded, it was the truth after all. "Yes, but I wasn't angry at you, but on your behalf. I know that you don't like to be around strangers, Holmes and I felt angry, because you were forced to play this part. If the police had done their job..."

"The police won't do their job - or will do it even worse than usual - because they aren't interested in arresting the murderer and that's why I had to resort to this plan. Even if I brought all the evidence I gathered to them they would take longer than necessary to act and our man would have fled before they could even think of arresting him."

I accepted that Holmes didn't mention the past week and I pushed the burning anger at what he probably had endured to the back of my mind. Holmes didn't put himself through anything he couldn't handle, but I still felt that it would have been better if he had let me in on his plan sooner. We could have played the part of total strangers to each other and Holmes wouldn't have had to interact with other men to make his inclinations believable.

I started at that thought. It was one thing to protect your friend, but to imagine how it would have been to act like lovers... I allowed the thought to pass for now so that I could focus on more important matters. Later would be enough time to puzzle it over. "I presume we will have an early dinner before we go out."

"Yes, I already told Mrs. Hudson that we will be eating in an hour. It would serve our purpose well to be dressed for our outing by then, Watson." I nodded at Holmes, who didn't notice it as he had sat down in the armchair again, packing a pipe. "Don't forget your gun."

I almost laughed at his reminder, as I wouldn`t go chasing after a murderer without it and Holmes was well aware of this fact. Therefore I didn't deem it necessary to reply and instead turned towards my bedroom. Holmes' voice held me back. "If it's of any importance to you, my dear friend, I didn't enjoy the last seven evenings at all."

I didn't admit it to Holmes or myself at that time, but when I hurried to my bedroom to get dressed for our adventure, I felt more at ease after his statement.

OOO

The nights were still cold. I pulled my cloak closer around me as I lit yet another cigarette. I had always hated waiting, even when I was in Afghanistan, the waiting had always been the worst. Half hidden in a dugout, the loaded firearm at the ready and my loyal men next to me, I had always hoped that the attackers would arrive sooner rather than later. When the battle started, I knew what I had to do, how to aim and shoot, make sure that my comrades and I made it out alive. More often than not there were injured soldiers and dead comrades to take care of, but I could handle that. What I couldn't handle was... waiting.

A sigh escaped my lips as I took out my watch to check the time. Holmes had entered _The Seven Sirens_ almost two hours ago and if I was to believe him, he would soon leave with the murderer on his heels. My task was to wait in a hidden street corner, from which I had a good view of the entrance of the pub, and follow my friend and the culprit.

I touched the revolver, which was hidden under my waistcoat, just to put my worries at ease as the bell beat the tenth hour. Holmes and I had survived much more dangerous adventures or so I tried to tell myself, when a shiver of foreboding ran down my spine. My friend had revealed to me that all the victims had been regulars of the pub and that the police didn't feel the need to investigate their murders intensively, because they were of the opinion that sodomites didn't deserve a less gruesome end. I concluded for myself that the murderer held the same beliefs, otherwise Holmes' plan didn't make much sense.

The bell sounded again and when the last echoes of the sound trailed away, the door of the pub finally opened to reveal my friend. I freely admit that I wouldn't have recognized him, if I hadn't seen him in his disguise before. His hair appeared to be of a deep red in the light, which filtered through the opened door and although I couldn't see his face at the moment, I know that the lower part of it was covered by a huge beard and a mustache. His clothes weren't of the same high quality he normally preferred, but his simple and used looking trousers and the light cloak had to lead to the conclusion that he couldn't afford newer clothes and that he might be a member of the working class. At least it meant that no one would recognize my friend in this place, since I didn't want rumors to make the round through London. Holmes' reputation would have suffered from it and I knew how much he hated to be the focus of everyone's speculations. It wouldn't matter if he had done anything that might justify their words - in this very pub or in the past - it was his business and no one else'... maybe mine, but that was about it.

Occupied with my thoughts, I almost missed a second man leaving the pub. I watched as Holmes glanced and then nodded at him, before leading the way down the street, the man - the suspect - followed two steps behind him. They must have arranged some sort of rendezvous like it often happened in these establishments. I counted to ten, before I followed behind them.

It was still relatively early in the evening and there were enough pedestrians in the streets to give me cover. Only when Holmes started to use back alleys, it became more difficult to chase behind them, without being noticed by the suspect. Still, the chase felt much better than the waiting. My body hummed with energy and anticipation and I felt like a hunter stalking its prey. Soon, very soon, we would catch a violent murderer and I felt all my former worries vanish as that thought became my sole purpose. They slammed back into me full force, when I rounded the next corner and saw the empty street in front of me.

Panic rose in me as I noticed the junction at the end of the small street. I had lost sight of Holmes and worse... of the man, who was a suspected murderer. I knew that my friend was capable of defending himself, he had proven it numerous times, but I was also aware that Holmes was counting on me. He hadn't told me to bring my revolver for nothing and I had... Calm down!

I forced myself to take a deep breath and my legs to move. Panic would neither help Holmes nor me. If I wanted to help my friend, I had to clear my head from any interfering emotions and use the skills I had picked up from Holmes, during our decade long friendship. I was just about to inspect the ground at the junction to conclude in which direction the men had turned, when a muffled scream from my right reached my ear. Holmes, my mind concluded as I sprinted down the dark alley and drew my revolver at the same time to have it at the ready. It was a wise move, I realised when I stumbled into a blind alley.

The only light came from a streetlamp, on the other side of the stone wall, which separated the alley from another one. Still, it was enough to make out the two men, which were intertwined in a deadly embrace. My training in the army paid off, as I only needed a mere moment to analyze the situation. The stranger - who was even taller than my friend - had slung one arm around Holmes' waist and held him against his chest, while his other arm was pressed against his throat. Light, reflected from where his hand touched the vulnerable flesh of my friend led me to a horrible conclusion. The bastard held a knife to Holmes' throat.

I couldn't fathom how he had managed to get my friend in such a position and I feared that my incompetence was the reason as to why Holmes' life was threatened. If I hadn't lost track of them... No, now was not the time for self-reproaches. No was the time for actions. I abandoned my cover and stepped into the light. The focus of both men shifted to me at once.

"Throw away your knife and let go of him!"

My voice was steady, commanding like it used to be when I beckoned an order to my men. The rush of danger hummed through my veins as I took another step towards the culprit and my friend. I would have pulled the trigger if I hadn't been afraid to miss and injury Holmes instead. Still I hoped that the sight of a loaded revolver would be enough to bring the murderer to his senses. Unfortunately, I was wrong.

"I won't do that and I suggest you, Sir, turn around right now and forget what you have seen here. I assure you that the death of this man won't be a loss to humanity. He is a pervert and he led me to this place to satisfy his twisted urges with me. The police will rather arrest you for shooting me than me for killing this sodomite."

Anger rose in me at his words and I had to restrain myself from pulling the trigger as I tried to remain calm. It was almost comical when you thought about it, I didn't normally react to insults aimed at me, but when someone dared to offend Holmes to my face, it was hard for me to keep my composure. My friend was the most brilliant man, I knew, he excelled in everything he did. I often thought that people, that didn't recognize his genius had to be pitied. They missed out on so much and yet... I was happy that it was mostly me who got to witness his beautiful mind at work. That bastard wouldn't take my friend away from me.

"Let him go," I growled and shifted my weight to have better aim at the head of the man. Something changed in his face, I couldn't put my finger on it, since the light was barely bright enough to judge the best angle for a shoot, but his focus shifted from Holmes to me. "You are together in this."

I froze. Had he seen through Holmes' trap and realized that everything had been planned from the start to arrest or kill him? I didn't know how a man like him was going to react to such a realisations, but he didn't appear to be going down without a fight.

"Is that some perverse game of you sods? Do you get off when you see him with someone else or did you want to join in and have a lick as well?"

The blood boiled in my veins at his words, but not for obvious reasons. Every other man would have been offended at the accusation of being a sodomite, but I wasn't. From my perspective, it was much closer to a compliment than to an insult, if someone assumed that I was worthy of _being_ with Holmes in any way. I was proud to be his friend and my anger bristled at the assumption that I would like to see a stranger touching him in an intimate way.

"I'll soak the ground with his filthy blood and the police is going to stand around his dead body and spit on it, while his soul rots in hell."

I grinded my teeth as I fought down the impulse to abandon my revolver and throw myself physically at the murderer instead. Holmes wouldn't appreciate such an emotional outburst and it could very well cost his life, although I hadn't yet figured out how to save him with the help of my revolver. Even if I got a clear shot through the man's head, it could still mean death for my friend. I have seen men firing one last shot or slicing the throat of their opponents, after their brains had been splattered on the ground. It was also impossible though to aim at any other part of the murderer without hitting Holmes. My only hope was that I were able to distract the criminal long enough to figure out how to get both of us, Holmes and I, safely back to Baker Street.

"How does it come that you think you have a right to murder these men?" It wasn't the most original question, but I had learned long ago that some suspects enjoyed boasting about their crimes and I hoped that he wasn't an exception.

Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Holmes' body sagging a little against his attacker. He leaned more heavily against his side now. I just hoped that he hadn't been injured prior to my arrival. It was impossible to make out any blood in this light and I couldn't tell if Holmes had gained a head injury which was taking its toll by now. If possible it made me even more determined to save him.

"Only a pervert like yourself can't understand why I did it. Men like you are an abnomination, you shouldn't be allowed to walk on the Lord's earth and breath the same air as respectable men." I didn't take the time to correct his assumptions about me. It wasn't important what the bastard thought about Holmes or I. He was nothing more than a target which had to be eliminated. "Maybe I should make sure that you are arrested for murdering your _friend_ ," the last word was spat like something especially filthy. "I'm sure you will have a great time in prison, surrounded by men, that haven't seen a woman in years. You would probably even enjoy yourself, when they bend you over a table and..."

Everything happened so fast then, that I wasn't able to recall the details. One moment, Holmes was pressed against his attacker, appearing to be only semi-conscious and the next second he moved like a professional fighter. I was only able to gape as he threw himself around and drove a fist in the kidney area of the man, whilst disarming him at the same time. The knife clattered to the ground as the attacker doubled over and sank to his knees. My brilliant friend stepped behind him and I expected him to bind the culprit with a pair of handcuffs he had obtained from Lestrade at some point, but Holmes took another step back, away from the murderer.

"Shoot!"

I only hesitated for a second before I pulled the trigger. The noise of the shot echoed from the walls around us as the culprit fell face down to the ground, a gaping wound in his forehead. A puddle of blood dyed the street at our feet red, but I didn't feel any remorse at the sight. The poor bastard had threatened the life of the most brilliant man of this area - who happened to be my closest friend - and death was a very mild punishment for that non-indictable offence.

"Hurry, Watson, we have to go before some worried resident alerts the watchmen."

I didn't question him, as I hadn't questioned his command to shoot, as Holmes gathered the knife of the culprit and then led the way through the labyrinths of London's back alleys. We had only rounded two corners when I heard hasty steps running in the direction of the crime scene. The police must have arrived and if Lestrade deemed it necessary to consult my friend with this crime Holmes would have to decline if he didn't want to get me arrested or pretend that he wasn't able to solve the case. I couldn't even start to guess which of the two options, he would find easier to make. It would be hard for him to pretend that he couldn't solve a crime, but declining a promising case... what would the Yarders think?! A mad chuckle escaped my lips at that thought - probably a reaction to the upsetting events of the evening - and I stopped running as I felt another laughter threatening to burst out.

"We don't have time for a nervous breakdown now, my dearest friend. You will have to wait until we are at home."

Holmes' hand closed around my wrist as he led me hurriedly through the streets of London and back to our flat. He didn't give the chance to lose my nerves, as long as the door to Baker Street 221B wasn't closed firmly behind us.


	3. Friendship and Revelations

**Author Notes** : I am glad this chapter didn't me as long to edit as the last one.^^ I apologize for the cliffhanger in advance. ;)

Enjoy!

 **Friendship and Revelations**

"My dear Watson, I didn't know that your nerves aren't as strong anymore as they used to be."

"What, Holmes, did you see me hesitate when I pulled the trigger?" I sat down heavily in my armchair. The adventure of the evening had left me a little breathless and my heart beat faster than was healthy. Did I get old? I was barely over forty and I had never experienced such side-effects after chasing through London at Holmes' side before. I hadn't felt the need to chuckle, after my friend and I had broken into Milverton's house or when we had killed the dog of Baskerville at the last minute, either.

"I didn't say that your nerves aren't strong enough to kill a man, who wouldn't have gotten punished otherwise, but some component of our adventure was obviously too much for your nerves, my dear chap. The last time I saw you in a similar condition was when I returned to you." Holmes didn't need to elaborate this point. I could still recall the night, when my friend had returned from the dead, as if it had happened yesterday. It was unlikely that I would ever forget the shock that had enfolded me, when Holmes had appeared in my living-room. At least, this time, my nerves hadn't acted up just as badly as back then, otherwise Holmes and I would have found ourselves in a lot of trouble. Not even my brilliant friend would have been able to carry an unconscious man of my inches through London unnoticed.

"I was worried that I came too late and would lose you again," I admitted to my friend, who had shed his disguise and was now busy sparking the flames in the fireplace. It was the only logical explanation for my poor nerves. Holmes and I had often found ourselves in life-threatening situations, but they had all occurred, before I had believed him dead and out of my reach forever. Obviously, I couldn't endure grieving for him again, not after losing him once and after the death of my beloved wife. I waited for Holmes to mock me for my sentimentality and tell me that he had had the situation under perfect control, but no such words were forthcoming.

"I noticed that you lost track of us, when I didn't hear your footsteps anymore. That's why I deemed it necessary to give you a clue as to my whereabouts."

The scream, of course, Holmes wouldn't be caught uttering such a humiliating sound if it wasn't on a purpose. "It seems to me that you didn't need me to subdue your attacker."

Was that a blush on Holmes' cheeks?

Fascinated, I stared at the tiny twin spots of color in my friend's face as he got up from the floor. It didn't happen often that Holmes wasn't in perfect control of his body. He was even able to fake tears if a case deemed it necessary and I had only ever seen him losing control when a fever had forced him to remain in bed after an especially tiring case. This time though, his unease seemed to be genuine as he averted his gaze from mine and turned towards the sideboard, where we stored our liquors. "It seems that I miscalculated the situation to some extent this time, Watson," Holmes spoke to the glasses. "I assumed that I would be able to subdue the murderer without allowing him the time to attack. I underestimated his hot temper. He had the knife at my throat, when I took a moment to notice that you had been lost behind."

He put a glass of brandy on the table next to me, but remained standing behind my chair with his own drink in hand.

"Still, you were able to disarm him in seconds." I didn't want to believe that Holmes would have been killed if I had shown up later than I did. It was easier to believe that my friend's life hadn't been in any serious danger at all, tonight.

"It would have been much harder to do so, if you hadn't disturbed him by making an appearance at the scene. I have to thank you, my dear Watson."

The brandy burned in my throat as I took a large gulp from the glass. I didn't want to imagine how differently the evening could have ended. Holmes dead at the feet of a ruthless murderer and I shooting him in an desperate attempt to avenge my friend. And I would have killed him, I didn't doubt that for a second.

"Holmes," A thought had just struck me and I turned my head to look at my silent friend. "Why did you want me to kill him?"

An amused smile replaced the blank mask as Holmes sipped from his brandy. "Oh now you ask, Watson. Your officers must have been very proud of you to follow orders, without asking for reasons."

I laughed. The brandy and the light atmosphere in the flat helped me to push the dark thoughts back and allowed my nerves to settle down. "I think murdering five people and attempting a sixth homicide is enough to warrant a death sentence."

"And yet you still expected me to handcuff our culprit and hand him over to the police." I didn't ask Holmes how he came to that conclusion, he had obviously deduced it from my posture after he had brought the man to his knees. "Yes, but you didn't."

"No," I felt Holmes shift behind me, but he didn't move to his armchair and instead remained standing behind me. "It wouldn't have had the desired effect. Our man was right, he wouldn't have been punished hard for the crimes he committed. Even better educated Inspectors like Lestrade don't have any sympathy left for the kind of men he killed and the judges wouldn't have seen it any differently. Usually, I have trust in our law, Watson, but sometimes it appears to punish the wrong people."

I silently nodded and took another swing from my glass. It was easy to follow Holmes' trail of thoughts for once and I wholeheartedly agreed with him. Still, I had to admit that I hadn't justified killing the man with these arguments, when I had taken a minute to recall my actions. He had had the nerve to threaten the life of my friend. This alone warranted the final shot in my mind. At least, I felt better knowing that this bastard would soon turn into a meal for the worms.

"And I didn't want to take the chance that you got involved in this whole mess." I raised an eyebrow at that. From my point of view, it wasn't possible to get more involved in the case than I already was.

Holmes chuckled quietly. "I mean the mess that would have followed this adventure if we had handed him over to the court, my dear chap. I considered letting him live, until he spurted that nonsense of placing blame for murdering me on you. I couldn't predict what he would do if we allowed him to tell his version of the story to anyone. It would have been unacceptable to see you in prison, Watson, for whatever short amount of time."

The glass almost slipped from my fingers, before I managed to put it on the table. I was aware that Holmes considered me a friend - his only one - but I had never thought it possible that he would make a decision based on my wellbeing... at least not when it concerned a case. My disbelief had to be written all over my face as Holmes put a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "Don't look like this, Watson. You should have realised by now that you are irreplaceable to me. I wouldn't sacrifice you on the off chance to see a man punished for his crimes, when there is a different way out."

I blinked at the compliment. Either my nerves were still playing tricks on me or Holmes was in a strange mood, since it was rare - almost unheard of - that he admitted to harbor any kind of sentiments. The evening must have shaken him more than I had been able to tell. I placed my hand on top of his and squeezed gently. Holmes wasn't a very affectionate man and he wasn't prone to physical demonstrations of affection, so I anticipated him to withdraw his hand from my shoulder at the simple contact, but his muscles didn't even tense.

It shouldn't feel good to hold my friend's hand like this. Men might walk around with linked arms, if they were close friends. A man might pat another one on the shoulder or offer a comforting hug if a tragic incident had occurred and they were really close - family or long-lived friends - but everything else was frowned upon. I certainly had never touched a man so intimately before - not even my brother - and yet the contact didn't feel inappropriate. After all, it wasn't some random stranger, but Holmes, my best friend and brilliant genius and that made the touch just right.

I couldn't recall how long we stayed like this, neither of us moving or talking and only barely breathing, before the moment was broken by hasty steps on the stairs. I hadn't heard the door downstairs and Holmes must have missed it as well, as I felt him startle behind me, before his hand was withdrawn from my shoulder. When the door opened to a panting Lestrade, we were separated by a respectable distance - each in his own armchair. My friend was his cold and brilliant self, once more as he welcomed the Inspector and gestured for him to sit down in front of the fireplace, before he stated his business... but I still felt the warmth on my shoulder, where he had touched me.

OOO

"I don't understand why you don't want to investigate this case, Mr. Holmes. I thought it would be right up your league."

I watched quietly as Holmes brought his clasped hands under his chin and regarded Lestrade with cold eyes. The Inspector had told us about a murder, which had taken place about an hour ago. The watchmen had been at the crime-scene right after the crime had been committed, as they had been alarmed by the residents of the nearby houses. They had found a man, with a bullet wound in his forehead and therefore concluded that the victim had been executed. It wasn't an uncommon crime in this part of the city, but the watchmen had found it rather suspicious that no article of value had been taken. After concluding that the motive for the murder wasn't robbery they had informed Scotland Yard.

I didn't dare to say anything as Lestrade gave us the facts of the crime for fear of betraying myself. It was a little like the time, when Holmes and I had witnessed the assassination of Milverton and my friend had had to decline helping the police with the case, because we had been farther involved than they could ever suspect. At the same time, it was highly different from the case of the blackmailer. While we had only been witnesses to a murder the last time, we were guilty of the crime itself as of tonight. Adding the whole list of the accompanying circumstances of tonight to the murder and it was much more at stake for both of us than ever before. The police could never learn the truth or Holmes and I would lose everything.

"I'm not interested in petty gang rivalries - as the exertion of the murder is typical for the gang members in this part of London.. Two men or more, one of them the victim, got into a fight over some criminal business and one of them didn't survive the night. I don't know why you should ask for my expertise if the case is so simple."

I marveled at how easily the lies fell from Holmes' lips. If I hadn't been privy to the truth, I would have been convinced that my friend believed every word he said. He would have made a great actor if he hadn't decided to become the only consulting detective in the world.

I concluded from the Inspector's expression that he was fooled by Holmes' words, but that he hadn't given up yet. The glint in his eyes revealed that he still believed to have an ace up his sleeve, which would make Holmes' rethink his position. "I very much doubt that Walter of Rutland was a member of a street gang, Holmes. I - and many of my men - rather think that a political reason was the cause for his death."

Over the years, I had learned to read Holmes' expressions to some extent and I gathered from the slightly furrowed brows and the thin line of his lips that he was berating himself right now. I was sure that there hadn't been time to search and rob the body of clues that would betray his identity - between the shot and the arrival of the watchmen - but Holmes was still blaming himself for this oversight. No one would have been able to recognize the man from the look of his face, since there hadn't been much left of his skull, after a revolver had been fired at him from close distance.

"Watson, please pass me the encyclopedia with the names from P to S."

It was my luck that I had worked for years under great pressure in Afghanistan and had retained my strong nerves due to my friendship with Holmes and our adventures. My hands didn't betray my nervousness as I handed the work to my friend and sat down in my armchair again. Holmes' long fingers thumbed through the pages of the book, until he had found the name he was looking for. "Walter of Rutland, fourth son of the Earl of Rutland, born on the 23th of May in 1874, engaged to Victoria Ranford, the only daughter of a wealthy owner of several weapon manufactories. The marriage should take place in the upcoming July and Walter of Rutland agreed to allow his soon-to-be-wife to have full reign of her dowry in exchange for getting a leading position at the manufactory of her father."

Holmes closed the encyclopedia and placed it carefully on the table as he absorbed what he had just learned about the man, who had intended to kill him. "It seems like this marriage - like so many others - wasn't born of love or some equal emotion, but was rather like a business contract between two parties. The girl gets to marry into one of the oldest noble families and gains their name, while the man gets a safe position, which he must have been in dire need of. The fourth son of an old family isn't likely to own much, when his brothers must hold the largest parts of the family's fortune. Yet," Holmes tapped his fingers against the arm rest of the chair. "I seem to remember that the marriage wasn't as certain as Walter of Rutland would have liked it to be."

Lestrade, who knew about Holmes' register of all people - which he deemed worth an entry - had listened silently to his speech, but at his last words, the Inspector`s eyes widened in surprise. "I thought you didn't read the rumors, that the press is fast to spread, because you can only know these news from the newspapers. The father of the girl, Mister David Ranford, announced that the marriage of his daughter to our victim was postponed if not entirely cancelled. He didn't give any explicit reasons for his decision, but the masses speculated that Miss Ranford's fiancée wasn't behaving like a gentleman towards her."

A snort escaped my lips and two pairs of eyes fixed on me. One, cold blue and with a hidden warning in it and another, light brown and curious. I hurried to explain myself. "It's just, Inspector Lestrade, that others would call his behavior far worse than you just did. If I'm not mistaken, his fiancée told a friend of hers that he had pressured her to give to him what's not rightfully his until the wedding night and when she didn't agree he slapped her, before a servant could interfere. Her friend sold the story to the newspapers."

My words were greeted with silence and I regretted that I had said anything at all. It couldn't lead to the desired results if Lestrade focused on me for longer than absolutely necessary. Holmes might tell me time and time again that the Yarders were incompetent, but I was sure that it didn't apply to Lestrade. The Inspector wasn't as brilliant as my friend - who was? - but he wasn't stupid, either.

Instead of questioning me why I knew so much about Walter of Rutland and coming to the worst possible conclusion - my involvement in his murder, but for all the wrong motives - the Inspector let out a bark of laughter. "It's good that you have Doctor Watson, Mister Holmes, otherwise you wouldn't notice what was moving the masses. At least, now I know how you learned about the development of Mr. Rutland's planned marriage."

From the corner of my eye, I noticed my friend relaxing back in his armchair as it became obvious that Lestrade didn't even consider that I might know the victim personally. "It seems to me that a suitor of the girl or a close relative might have killed Mr. Rutland to make sure that the marriage didn't take place."

Holmes only shrugged, still appearing uninterested in the case. "That's possible or a creditor didn't want to wait for his money any longer. Men like Mr. Rutland tend to spend more money than they have and he would only start working for his father-in-law after the wedding was finalized. Considering that the wedding was likely to be cancelled and Mr. Rutland would have been left without a penny to show to his creditors, money is as likely a motive as a miffed suitor of the young Miss Ranford.. As I said before, a very ordinary case and I'm still not interested, Lestrade. I'm sure you'll be able to solve this murder on your own, since I already did you a favor by investigating the case of the Smith's family."

It was then that Lestrade finally realised that he wouldn't be able to convince Holmes otherwise, judging from his sagging shoulders and the defeated sigh he uttered. "I can't force you to help me with this case, Mister Holmes, but if you change your mind before we have found a trace, you know where to find me."

My friend didn't deem this worthy of a reply and after an awkward silence, the Inspector took his hat and cloak. "I'll let you know when I have a more promising case. Mister Holmes, Doctor Watson," Lestrade nodded to us and left.

We remained in our armchairs, until we heard the front door closing. Holmes took the noise of the wooden frame against metal as a signal to leap to his feet and retrieve the knife from where he had hidden it under a pile of papers on the floor. "I should have taken a look at the knife sooner, Watson," my friend muttered as he examined the handle of the knife with his magnifying glass. "The initials are PHR and if I'm not mistaken the name of the grandfather of our man was Percival Harold of Rutland so that's a family heirloom. The blade was only sharpened recently, which you can deduce from the stress marks on the metal. It proves that this knife has been used to end the life of every victim and he wouldn't have stopped after slicing my throat. It's thanks to you that Rutland's killing spree ended, my dear chap."

I watched as Holmes turned the knife in his hands and examined every part of it throughout, but he didn't seem to find anything of importance as he finally put it aside with a frustrated sigh. "I can tell from the knife that Mr. Rutland was a rather violent man and he practiced his slicing techniques before he started to search for victims, but there is nothing that gives us information about his motive for the murders he committed."

His revelations were a little of a disappointment to me. I liked to have a clear picture of a case, after Holmes had solved it. I was aware that I didn't have a chance to figure out the motivations of Mr. Rutland, but I still offered my speculations, if only to give Holmes a reason to criticize me and cheer him up. "There is a theory in the analytic psychology that some people would kill what they wanted, because their desires went against their personal moral code and they intended to get rid of the temptation. I think that it might be the same with our man."

Holmes' sharp eyes fixed me with a thoughtful glance and I watched how he turned my words over in his head and - to my great astonishment - nodded in agreement. "You might be right, Watson, although you know that I'm not fond of psychology, it makes sense in this case. I noticed that Mr. Rutland was certainly not unaffected by the other patrons at the pub. He might have killed the men for no other reason than for hating that he shared their inclinations and that his victims didn't seem to even think about staying away from temptation. Very good, my dear friend." Warmth swelled in my chest at Holmes' praise. Not even a medal of honor would have made me as proud as his simple words did.

I was just about to help myself to a second glass of brandy, when I noticed the angry, red line on Holmes` throat, on my way to the sideboard. It had been hidden by his shirt collar, until a few moments ago and I deduced from the way Holmes touched the injury carefully that the fabric must have hurt the tender skin farther. I cursed Lestrade quietly as his mistimed arrival had prevented me from noticing Holmes' injury sooner. Not to mention that my friend had needed to hide the wound from the Inspector's suspicious eyes to avert possible questions.

"It's only a scratch, Watson. No need to worry."

I didn't listen to him as I retrieved my medical equipment from my bedroom and put it on the floor next to Holmes. "Really, Watson," the glare I sent towards my friend, silenced him and he sighed in defeat. "No iodine though, I don't want to explain to Mrs. Hudson why my shirt's collars are smeared with rusty red stains."

I raised an eyebrow at that, but complied and instead of the iodine held out a bottle of ethanol and a dabber for my friend to inspect. He nodded his agreement and I poured a large amount of ethanol on the dabber, before taking a place behind my friend.

Thanks to years of practice, my hands didn't shake when I opened another button of Holmes' shirt to gain better access to his throat. The need to vet my friend had arisen numerous times during our friendship, but I had never before felt as nervous about touching Holmes as I did now. It was illogical. I had touched a lot of people, in my function as a doctor, and it wasn't the first time that I touched my friend. Still, it felt different than before as I cleaned the wound and checked that no foreign bodies were impaled in it. Holmes' skin was warm to my touch and I felt him gulp against my fingers, when I touched his vulnerable throat, where a knife had cut into his flesh not long ago. My fingers trembled ever so slightly as I applied a special salve, which we had also used for minor injuries in the army.

"I think we have done Miss Ranford a favor by killing her fiancée. The poor girl wouldn't have stood a chance of fighting him if the marriage had taken place, even if she had had full reign of her dowry." My words sounded unbelievable loud to my own ears, but I was focused on covering the whole wound with salve and didn't glance up to meet Holmes' gaze. I knew that my friend didn't like casual conversation. Still, if I didn't indulge in mindless small talk, I was sure to commit an unforgivable crime - like pressing my lips against Holmes' skin to test if it was as soft as it looked. Obviously, my nerves were still affected by these evening events, if I entertained such thoughts.

"It's typical for our society to accept an abusive relationship as long as the couple is lawfully married. People have yet to realise that abuse shouldn't be the norm and that it can only be prevented if both parties, in a marriage, are considered equals before the law." I frowned down at Holmes' pale throat. I had never heard him talking about women's rights before, but it seemed that for all his disregard for the female population, he believed that men and women should have equal rights.

"I never abused Mary," I suddenly protested after I had mulled his words over in my head. Holmes had made it sound like every man would abuse his wife, just because he could.

I felt him turn his face in my direction and noticed his lips turning slightly upwards. "I know, my dear chap and I never said anything like that. I also never said that I was for more women's rights, which doesn't mean that I'm against it, I just don't care one way or the other."

I inspected the wound one last time and decided that it wouldn't need a dressing, before I turned my head to meet Holmes' gaze. "I don't understand. What are you getting at, then?"

An exasperated sigh escaped my friend like it often did when a situation was clear to him, while I didn't even grasp the basics. "I mean that in our time and with the law we have right now, an equal relationship is only possible between two men - or two women if you want. Considering that such relationships are treated as a crime by the law, I therefore must conclude that our country isn't a champion of equality."

"An equal relationship," I echoed as my mind still tried to figure out why my heart was suddenly beating so fast in my chest. My eyes were fixed on Holmes' thin lips and how he wet them with his tongue after speaking. I noticed the faintest stubble on his chin and cheeks as I leaned over the armrest of the chair and invaded his personal space.

"Watson...," there was a question in his voice, but I didn't pay it any mind as I allowed my body to rule my actions and closed the distance between our lips. It was a chaste contact of two mouths, before I drew back - surprised at myself - after only a few seconds, but it felt like the most amazing kiss to me. That was, until I saw the unmasked shock in Holmes' eyes. His fingers were pressed to his lips, where my mouth had touched them only seconds ago.

"Holmes," I started, but I couldn't even think of anything to say, before my friend bolted from the armchair and fled to his bedroom.

I flinched as the door was closed with a loud bang and sank back down in my own armchair after staring at the closed door for minutes. I couldn't even start guessing how Holmes felt. Was he disgusted at my actions and would throw me out of the flat or would he pretend that nothing out of the ordinary had happened? Both possibilities seemed equally likely and even after over a decade as Holmes' closest friend, I didn't dare predicting what the actual outcome would be. Not to mention that I was too exhausted to come up with every other possible outcome or to worry about my weird actions. I just prayed that I hadn't destroyed the most important thing in my life with my rushed action: My friendship with Holmes.


	4. A fateful Case

Author Notes: I apologize for the delay between updates, but RL still keeps me busy. Also, I apologize for yet another cliffhanger in advance.*whistles innocently*

Enjoy the chapter! :)

 **A fateful case**

The first thing that registered in my mind, when I came back from sleep, was my stiff and aching neck. I groaned and made to stretch, when I felt a weight on my chest and arms, which restrained my movements to some extent. Years of living together with Holmes and my time in the army had trained me never to react impulsively, without analyzing the situation first.

Slowly and prepared for the worst, I opened my eyes and stared at the woolen blanket, which covered me from neck to toe.

My reaction time must have suffered over the years, since it only hit me at that point that I was sitting in my armchair and - what was even more important - why I hadn't slept in my bed. The brief kiss! Holmes' shock! My friend fleeing from the room... and covering me with a woolen blanket later on!

I blinked.

Holmes had never bothered to take care of me like this, when I had fallen asleep in my armchair, in the past. I still remembered him telling me that it would be better if I woke up after only half an hour of sleep, because I had grown cold, instead of sleeping the whole night away and waking up with a stiff neck in the morning. My friend rarely changed his mind about more trivial matters and I wondered why he had done so now.

"Awake, I see."

I snapped my head around in the direction of the voice and regretted it a second later when my neck protested against the sudden movement. I bit down on my lower lip as the pain coursed through my whole body and told me in no uncertain terms that I wasn't a young man anymore.

"I should have woken you sooner, Watson, but I needed time to order my thoughts." The words were as close as Holmes would ever get to apologizing for allowing me to grow a stiff neck over night.

Carefully, I turned my head in the direction of my friend and a gasp escaped my lips as I took in his appearance. Holmes had never been tanned, but when I looked at him now, he appeared almost sickly pale to my schooled eye. The skin of his face had a grayish tinge to it, his usually sharp eyes were of a dull blue and the circumorbital rings spoke of deep exhaustion.

I wouldn't have been so shocked, if Holmes had been working on a particular straining case and had forgone meals in sleep in favor of following a promising track. As it was, we had just solved our latest mystery and there was no reason for my friend to look this exhausted.

As soon as the culprit was found and arrested or - in some cases - was dead, Holmes always made up for his lack of sleep and meals during the case. It had often happened that he slept for a whole day, before he emerged from his bedroom again, looking fit and recovered. Only one occasion - when my friend had looked like the walking death, after solving a case - came to my mind and an enteric fever had been the cause of it. My worry as a friend fought against the professionalism of the doctor and I couldn't decide which role to adapt, when Holmes spoke again.

"There is no need to worry, Watson. My condition is quite common for a man, who couldn't find sleep, because he turned over a certain problem in his mind again and again." His eyes regained some of their sharpness as they met my gaze and I was barely able to restrain myself from flinching away as I realised what Holmes was speaking about.

The kiss!

Of course, Holmes wasn't someone, who let such a transgression go and it shouldn't come as a surprise that he had spent the whole night trying to solve the mystery behind my behavior. My friend wasn't so confused by my actions, because of his lack of physical closeness to anyone, but because... my actions had taken him by surprise. I doubted that Holmes would have given a simple kiss so much thought if a stranger - no matter if man or woman - had dared to touch him like this. My hand moved of my own accord as I stroked my lips, which had touched Holmes' mouth, only a few hours ago.

"Excellent, Watson," A cynic smile was plastered on Holmes' face as he followed the movement with his eyes. "I spent a whole night trying to figure out why you did that by recalling everything I know about you, but I haven't come to a solution yet. Oh, I have a few theories," Holmes added as I looked at him in disbelief. "But there are so many variables that I can't decide which is the correct one or at least comes the closest to the truth."

He paused, obviously giving me the chance to reveal my motives to him, but I kept silent. Holmes had spent the whole night thinking about the kiss, while I had given in to exhaustion, without the chance to find the words to explain my actions. Because, I knew what had brought them on. Actually, I should have recognized the depth of my feelings for Holmes, long ago. As it was, I was finally aware of them, but hopeless at explaining them to my friend, when my mind wasn't working clearly at - I glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece - six in the morning. Until I figured out how and if I would confess my feelings to Holmes at all, I was thankful that Holmes was still talking with me, instead of throwing me out of the flat, although I didn't dare hoping that this wasn't in my immediate future.

"As I understand that you didn't have the time to think about it, I'll share my most likeliest theories for your actions with you and you can decide what suits you the best."

I drew the cover closer around myself as I listened to Holmes' cold voice. He usually reserved that icy tone for annoying witnesses and hardened criminals. I sent a silent prayer that Holmes counted me to the former category and not to the latter.

"The first explanation I came up with was that our latest case had upset you more than I realized and that your action was born of exhaustion and confusion, so that you didn't even knew what you were doing, until you did it."

I didn't say anything, neither in confirmation nor in denial, as I was still trying to decide which would be the best course of action. It was clear to me why I had kissed Holmes, but it was much more complicated to make up my mind about whether I should tell him or not.

My friend only sighed as I kept silent and continued talking.

"I also considered that it was possible that you were curious how I was able to blend into the regular audience of the pub and that you wanted to find out how I reacted to the advances of some men. If that was the case, you would have gotten your answer by inquiring about it directly, since I wasn't prepared for..." Holmes interrupted himself with a shrug and I was left wondering if he just didn't know what to call my actions or if he didn't want to mention the kiss aloud. After all, it was unlikely but not impossible that Mrs. Hudson was already awake and would overhear our conversation. It was impossible for me to guess at the reasons for Holmes' caution as I wasn't even able to determine what he was feeling about the whole mess.

"It sounds also likely that after being a widower for two years, without any physical contact to speak of - I knew that you neither went to a brothel nor kept a lover - you just craved that simple touch, because you missed to feel the love of your late wife for you. If that's the case, then I would ask you what brought up this sentimental bout, as you never acted like this before. "

I stared at Holmes as I listened to his reasoning. It was impossible for me to figure out how his brilliant mind had come up with that idea, but it also made it clear to me what I had to do.

No matter what Holmes would think of me, it would be cruel to make my best friend assume that I only kissed him out of curiosity or - God forbid - because I needed a substitute for my late wife. From our former conversation after the case of the _Lovesick Tyrant_ I knew that Holmes wouldn't hand me over to the authorities if I told him the truth. Everything else, I couldn't foresee and I didn't allow myself to imagine the possible outcomes that could follow my confession, for fear of remaining silent if I did.

"I wanted to."

It was one of the few times that I saw a mix of confusion and disbelief written all over Holmes' face as I announced this simple truth. "Watson, I fear I must ask you to elaborate, as I don't..."

"I wanted to kiss you, that's why I did it."

I waited with bated breath for Holmes` reaction, while my heart pounded against my ribcage as if I had just run through London.

"But why did you want to... kiss me?"

I exhaled a relieved breath as I noticed the lack of anger or irritation in the voice of my friend. Only a mild confusion, coupled with some strange emotion I couldn't name, resonated in Holmes' voice and I allowed hope to bloom in my heart. Just when I opened my mouth to confess to my friend, the feelings - I had just realised - I harbored for him, the cracking of the front door and hasty steps on the stairs interrupted me.

A delivery boy hurried into the room and looked from me to Holmes, before he walked to my friend and handed him a telegram. I noticed that the note had to be of importance - even before Holmes' jumped up from his armchair - from the way he furrowed his brow. "Get dressed, Watson, we are going out," he was almost all the way to his bedroom, before he paused to send me an encouraging look. "We will talk about everything else later."

I didn't pretend to be happy about the newest development, but I took heart from the fact that Holmes still wanted me to accompany him, even if it meant that I had to wait for our conversation to take place, until another case had been solved. I got up from my armchair to prepare myself for an exhausting day.

OOO

I didn't get the chance to ask Holmes what had been written in the telegram, until we were sitting in a hackney and he had given the coachman the address to a house in Kensington. From that I gathered that whoever the client was - who had just interrupted a very important conversation with Holmes - he had to be fairly well off, if he lived in this part of London.

I remarked as much to my friend, who only snorted at my observation skills. At least I assumed that my lack of expertise, in the area in which Holmes was outstanding, was the reason for his amusement, only to be proven wrong.

"To say that the family Millais is well off is an understatement, my dear Watson. They are one of the most wealthy salesman families in England if not in whole Britain." I furrowed my brow at this. Not that I doubted the information, as I was sure that Holmes had used the time I took to rush through my morning rituals to look up the name of the family in his own encyclopedia, but still...

"Millais isn't an English surname, as you must have noticed," Holmes directed a grin at me as the hackney speeded through the mostly empty streets of London. "In fact it's a French surname and the Millais migrated from France to England after the Edict of Fontainebleau was passed in 1685. It allowed the persecution of Protestants in France and especially many Huguenots fled the country to start a new life in more tolerant countries in Europe. England was one of the countries, which welcomed them with open arms."

What Holmes told me wasn't exactly news to me, since one of my fellow students at university had been the son of a Huguenot family and he had shared parts of his family history with me. Still, as I wasn't very interested in religion, I didn't know what the differences between Huguenots and other Protestants were... or if there were any at all. I was surprised that Holmes was able to satisfy my curiosity, as I knew for a fact that he didn't believe in any higher being and disliked religions for their mere existence.

"The Huguenots follow the doctrine of Johannes Calvin. They are hardworking and abdicate any simple amusements as even dancing is considered a breach of the rules made by God." Holmes sneered the last words, before he continued in a normal voice. "You see, Watson, they are much stricter than other Protestants or Catholics and the life they lead is very..."

"Boring," I finished his sentence and was treated to one of Holmes' rare smiles.

We sat in silence for some part of the drive, before my curiosity got the better of me. "Why did they call you?"

Instead of a long explanation about what we could expect, once we arrived at our destination, Holmes merely pursed his lips and shook his head. "I can't tell you, Watson, because," he held up his hand as I opened my mouth to protest. "I don't know what we are going to see, when we arrive." I must have looked at him in disbelief, since Holmes laughed quietly and handed me the note from the Millais family.

 _We are in need of your expertise, Mr. Holmes. A tragedy has occurred that leaves us in need of your help and discretion._

 _Yours respectfully_

 _Jacque Henri Millais_

The address was added as a post script and I handed the short and uninformative note back to my friend.

"I can only deduce that something has happened that the family sees as a scandal and wants to keep away from the prying eyes of the public. The possibilities as to what could have happened are so numerous that everything I said would be mere speculations. Especially since I don't know enough about Huguenots to come up with everything they would consider as a scandal. It could be something very mundane or it could be a murder, but we will learn more soon."

We spent the rest of the drive in comfortable silence, until the coachman stopped in front of an impressive building. It wasn't a mansion like our friend Henry Baskerville had owned, but it was still stately. The cast-iron gate at the front entrance stood like a silent guard between the pavement and the small staircase which led to the entry door. The walls of the house were plastered and cream-coloured. It poked out of the neighborhood as it had the best maintained facade, in comparison. While I still tried to figure out what that observation meant or if it wasn't relevant at all, a servant came through the entry door and opened the gate for us. He didn't say anything as he led us through the entrance hall to the stairs and then upwards, where I assumed that the private rooms of the family were located. As Holmes kept silent as well, I followed his lead and waited in anticipation as the servant knocked at one of the doors.

"Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson are here, Monsieur Millais."

The door was opened by a man in his late forties, clad in a perfectly fitting dark suit, who only gestured for us to enter, before closing the door in the face of his servant. "You must excuse my behavior, gentlemen, but I can't allow the servants to know what has happened here, before everything is sorted out."

I let my gaze wander through the Spartan room. A wardrobe stood at the wall, opposite the door. To our left - next to a big window - was a single bed, which's curtains were drawn shut and in one corner of the room I noticed a desk, that was covered in books. There wasn't anything else remarkable in the room and I frowned as I realised that it told even less about its inhabitant than my own room at Baker Street. If it hadn't been for the crowded desk, I would have believed to be in one of the guestrooms.

"I see that you cut down the unfortunate - your son, I presume - from the rope and laid him down on the bed."

A small gasp escaped Mr. Millais, before he got his composure back and nodded at Holmes, a content smile gracing his features. "I see that my son - my other son, Daniel - had the right idea by suggesting that we call you, Mr. Holmes. You are even better than your reputation and I'm sure that you will be able to help us to prevent a scandal from tainting our family's good name."

Holmes didn't answer as he was already busy examining the cut rope, before moving over to the bed and drawing the curtains back. I followed him, if only to get away from Jacques Millais, who was watching everything out of cool, blue eyes. He hadn't given me any real reason to dislike him, but it made me feel uncomfortable to be in a room with a man, who was behaving like he was just overseeing a huge business deal, instead of mourning for his dead son.

"Watson, would you please take a look at him."

I stood next to Holmes and looked down at the unfortunate young man. He must have been handsome, when he was still alive. The skin of his face was white and flawless. His nose had the perfect length for his small face and the dark eyelashes, that rested on his cheeks were long and silky just like his brown curls. I was certain that he had grown them out to achieve a wilder look, as I gathered from the military short cut of his father that his slightly longer hair wasn't the fashion of the family. A rebel, I concluded... a rebel, who had committed suicide. I deduced that from the marks, that the rope had left on his throat.

I examined his hands to make sure that there weren't any leads, that might suggest that the young man hadn't met his end on his own terms, but I didn't find anything that hinted on a crime. It didn't have to be of any importance, as I knew that Holmes could have picked up something I completely missed or deemed unimportant. After all, my friend had more often than not seen a murder, where others had seen an accident or a suicide. Nonetheless, as I gazed up at him to share my findings with him and almost flinched at the silent glare on his face. I had rarely seen such a murderous expression on my friend's face and I was only thankful that his glare wasn't directed at me, but at our unfortunate client.

"Monsieur Millais, you know very well that your son - Frederique - committed suicide, because it's obvious to anyone with two functional eyes that he hung himself. He used the chair - which your other son or you - put back to its place at the desk. There," he pointed at the place directly under the cute rope. "are the marks, that were left by the legs of the chair, when your son put the loop around his neck. The chair fell down, when he kicked it away. There," Holmes gestured to the carpet again. "are some scales of wood, which indicate just that. The case is clear and yet, you called me, when you know that I only help to solve crimes."

Any other man would have flinched away at the cold fury in Holmes' eyes but Mr. Millais only nodded and smiled as if to congratulate my friend to his brilliant combinations. I still didn't understand why Holmes looked so angry or why we had been called here in the first place, but fortunately I didn't have to wait long for an explanation.

"You called me, because you know about my reputation and you thought that it would be easy for me to arrange this place in such a way that it would look like a crime scene." A gasp escaped my lips as the pieces fell into place and everything became crystal clear. "You consider it a shame that your son took his own life and to keep your family's good name clean you want to make it look like he was the victim of a crime."

Holmes took a deep breath and I knew from experiences that his next words would be either hurt or offend our client. "Instead of mourning for your son and asking yourself what you did wrong that he didn't see any other way out, you steal the time of Doctor Watson and I."

Millais squinted his eyes at Holmes, his expression turning from calm to dangerous in a heartbeat. "Are you telling me that you don't wish to work for my family, Mr. Holmes?"

My friend didn't even deem this worthy of a reply as he crossed the room - gesturing me to follow him - and opened the door.

"I don't ask you to understand my reasons, Mr. Holmes, but I advise you to help me if you don't want to face dire consequences."

I threw a glare at the man, who dared to threaten my friend, but I left the speaking to Holmes, as he had a better way with words than I did. "I doubt that the police will press charges against me for declining to help you faking a crime."

"No, but there are other ways to ruin a man, Mr. Holmes." The two men stared at each other for what appeared to be an eternity, before Holmes turned on his heels and headed towards the stairs.

We didn't speak until we had left the house and had halted a hackney, which would bring us back to Baker Street. "I hope Mrs. Hudson has prepared tea and breakfast, when we get back."

I shared this wish with Holmes, who sat relaxed - as relaxed as possible, when you were driving through London in a hackney - and stared out of the window to muster the people in the streets, but I was unable to be so calm. The words of Mr. Millais still echoed through my mind and I judged him as a man, who kept his word.

OOO

Holmes and I enjoyed a hearty breakfast, made of eggs, bacon, scones and a lot of tea. I made a mental note to thank Mrs. Hudson for it later as I settled down in my armchair. After stilling my hunger and our little adventure in the morning I felt content to spend the rest of the day in the warmth of the flat.

"Mrs. Hudson has gone out to visit Mrs. Tendon, she won't be back for another couple of hours, probably longer if I take the length of their last meeting into consideration."

It took me a moment to realize why Holmes was giving me that piece of seemingly irrelevant information. If our landlady wasn't there, then the chances that someone would visit us that early in the morning was relatively small and if a client came, he would have to ring the bell. It gave us the freedom to continue our interrupted conversation openly. My heart hammered in my throat as I got up from my chair and joined Holmes still standing figure, in front of the fireplace. I placed a hand on his arm and heaved a sigh of relief when he didn't flinch away from me, but turned around to meet my gaze. "You wanted to kiss me."

I nodded.

"Why?" Holmes appeared to be at his wits' ends as if he couldn't understand why someone craved to feel his lips on their own. It made the heart in my chest clench, because even I knew what it meant to be loved or wanted, sometimes even both at the same time. My friend deserved to know these feelings as well.

"Men mostly aren't interested in kissing, at least not when they are searching for a male lover. It's only about..." I placed a finger on his lips to silence him and shook my head. "I don't know what men with these inclinations normally search. I have only gained some experiences - by the means of observation - in the army and I admit that these encounters weren't about the more noble feelings, but I don't doubt that it's possible for the more tender feelings to exist between two men. And if they haven't existed until today, let me be the first man to tell you that my feelings are more than mere lust for you."

Holmes wasn't often rendered speechless, but after my little speech he only stared at me like it was the first time that he laid eyes on me. Seconds ticked by and I felt myself growing nervous again as Holmes suddenly placed his hands on my shoulders and gifted me with one of his brilliant smiles. "My Watson, my dear, precious Watson," he murmured as his eyes mirrored his obvious happiness and disbelief.

I took that to mean that we were on the same page about our intentions and curled a hand around his neck to drew him closer. He didn't resist and soon I felt his lips on mine for the second time in less than twelve hours.

Holmes tasted of tea and bacon, his stubbles scratched at my lips and chin as he returned the kiss and his strong arms closed around my back to drew me closer. I lost myself in the sensation of kissing the most brilliant man, the world had ever seen, who happened to be my best friend, comrade-in-arm and lover all in one person. My heart beat hard in my chest as the blood rushed through my veins and made me feel light-headed while warmth gathered in my loins.

From what I could tell, Holmes wasn't unaffected either, if the wandering hands on my back and his fast breathing against my lips was any indicator. I was starting to wonder how we would proceed as our kiss grew more desperate by the minute when the door to our flat was opened with a loud bang. Holmes and I jumped at the noise and separated hastily, although it was obvious from the shock in the face of our visitor that he had seen everything.

A tall, but plump man, stood in our doorway, clad in an anthracite suit as his grey eyes took in the whole situation. Finally, he closed the door behind him and shook his head. "I must say, I'm very disappointed to be the witness of such a display."


	5. Preparations for Battle

**Author Notes** : My apologizes, I didn't plan on making you wait so long for this chapter. My only excuse is an upcoming exam on Monday, for which I studied every day.^^" I will try to update faster from now on. :)

 **Preparations for Battle**

Holmes was the first to get over his shock at being caught kissing another man by his own brother. "My dear Mycroft, I didn't expect you today."

"I wouldn't have paid you a visit this morning, my dear boy, but unanticipated activities didn't leave me a chance." Mycroft Holmes sat heavily down in the armchair I had vacated only minutes ago and gestured to his brother to hand him a glass of cognac.

"It's barely nine in the morning," my friend remarked, but handed the drink to his brother nonetheless. "I presume that the activities you referred to are of the unpleasant kind if you have to get courage from cognac."

I only watched the scene playing out before me with confusion. I had met Mycroft Holmes on two occasions. The first time, when he brought the case of the _Greek Interpreter_ to us and the second time, when I saw him briefly at the funeral service for his presumed dead brother. Therefore, it was safe to say that I didn't know much about the elder Holmes, besides the few facts my friend had shared with me and what I had been able to gather for myself. For example, I was aware that Mycroft Holmes was even more brilliant than my friend, but that he couldn't be bothered to do leg work, if it wasn't a life-or-death situation. I had also concluded for myself that the elder brother had an influential job, as he had been able to make people believe that Sherlock Holmes was truly dead, while supporting his younger brother with money and information at the same time. That knowledge wasn't of any help to me in this situation, as it didn't give me the first clue on what he thought about the kiss he had just witnessed. True, he was sitting completely relaxed in the armchair and he didn't appear to entertain thoughts about calling the police to get me arrested and away from his brother, but I was only rarely able to foresee Sherlock Holmes' next moves and Mycroft Holmes was like a closed book to me.

"Now, now, my dear Watson, there is no need to look so wary. Sit down!" I allowed my friend to usher me to the other armchair, but startled when he perched on the arm rest, instead of taking his own chair.

Sherlock Holmes' lips quirked up as he noticed my startled look. "I presume that you are worried, because Mycroft walked in on us, but I assure you, Watson that my brother is of the same mind about these matters as I'm, otherwise," and here, my friend grinned at his brother, who was still sipping his cognac. "He would have already demanded an explanation from us both. He can be very vigorous if the situation asks for it."

"A brief and correct description, Sherlock, which spares us both a lot of time, as we have to act even more quickly than I thought at first."

"So, he has already acted on his threat. That's remarkable, I have certainly underestimated the man."

I was left staring from one Holmes' brother to the other, without understanding what they were talking about. If I didn't know better, I would have thought that some kind of telepathic connection existed between siblings, but as I hadn't experienced such a thing with Harry, I didn't entertain that idea for longer than a second. They were just always a step ahead of everyone else and they didn't take the time to reveal their trains of thoughts to mere mortals like me. This time though, Sherlock Holmes took pity on me. "My brother has come to us, because Mr. Millais has taken the first steps to make his words come true and take revenge on me, because I refused to help him."

"This bastard," I gasped and looked at Mycroft Holmes for confirmation, who was staring grimly at his glass. "You can be glad that it was I, who just caught you, Doctor Watson, otherwise you would have played directly into Mr. Millais' hands."

It took me only a moment to absorb that information and come to the right conclusion, but when I did all warmth drained from my face. "He wants to... He is going to..."

"Yes," the elder Holmes answered calmly and put his still half-full glass on the table. "I was informed that Mr. Millais has taken the necessary steps to bring it to the attention of the police that Sherlock and you are indulging in carnal intercourse against the order of nature."

I shook my head, unwilling to even consider what that meant for Holmes and myself. "How does he," I interrupted myself as I noticed Sherlock Holmes' disappointed look out of the corner of my eye. "He doesn't know about us," I concluded and was rewarded with a nod from my friend and his brother. "But it's a safe way to destroy the reputation of a man."

"I assume that you also came here to warn us about a raid, my dear Mycroft?"

"Wait a second," I interrupted before the Holmes' brothers could get ahead of me again. "The police normally doesn't do raids, if they want to catch inverts and even if they turned up here, Holmes," I gestured at my friend. "knows every Inspector of Scotland Yard personally and even if he didn't, as long as they don't catch us in the act..."

The sentence went unfinished as I read the unpleasant truth in the grey eyes of Mycroft Holmes. "Mr. Millais is far more influential than you can even start to imagine, Doctor Watson. The secret police will have to act and I think it's a safe guess that they will pay you a visit before the day is over, probably in the evening hours. I doubt that you will be so careless as to be caught in a compromising situation and they won't be able to arrest you, but afterwards the rumors will start. My brother is very well known, thanks to your writing, Doctor Watson, and his reputation will be destroyed, when the public turns against him."

If I hadn't already sat down, I would have collapsed now, as all the blood seemed to have vanished from my body as I leaned heavily back in the armchair. When Millais had threatened Holmes, I hadn't taken his words seriously and now my friend would have to pay the price for being a decent human being and not doing what Millais had asked of him. I didn't spare a second to consider my own downfall, as my most precious possession was the friendship of Sherlock Holmes and I couldn't imagine a worse future than witnessing the destruction of my brilliant friend.

"Breathe, Watson! Breathe!"

The warm weight of Sherlock Holmes' hand on my shoulder ripped me away from my dark thoughts. When I glanced up, the sharp eyes of my friend gazed worriedly down at me. "Mycroft wouldn't have come to warn us, if he didn't think there was a way out." Blue eyes fixed his brother with a questioning look. "Otherwise we will organize our departure to the house of my family in the South of France right away."

It was the first and probably the last time, I saw surprise in Mycroft Holmes' face, but it was soon replaced by a faint smile. "I would have never thought that you, Sherlock, would leave London for the sake of being with a beloved person, but I'm rather glad to hear it. Still, I don't think that such harsh actions are required just yet. I have already gotten some information, that you will be able to use to stave off your doom, although," the grey eyes of Mycroft Holmes regarded me carefully. "It complicates matters that the rumors will be true."

"Was that why you informed us of your disappointment, when you... came in." Sherlock Holmes' hand squeezed my shoulder as his brother shook his head. "No, I was disappointed because you were so careless to keep the door unlocked. The complication is that your face, Doctor Watson, is like an open book to anyone, who looks closely and if you aren't able to convince Mr. Millais to give up on his revenge, Sherlock, I would recommend for you to go to France, before the police comes across any evidence to arrest you."

"One week should be sufficient." The voice of my friend sounded confident and calm as his brother only nodded at him, before getting up from the armchair, grunting a little at the effort. "I'll get the information to you as soon as the raid has taken place. Good morning, Sherlock, Doctor Watson."

I waited until the front door to the street was closed, before I turned around to meet Holmes' gaze. "Do you really think that you will be able to stop Millais from destroying your reputation?"

"Our reputation, my dear Watson, as I have it in good knowledge that you are a formidable doctor and honorable gentleman and former soldier."

I merely shrugged, as I wasn't worried that much about my reputation. There were better and worse men than I, which had been destroyed by the mere rumor about their sexual inclinations, but there was no one as brilliant as my friend. It would be a shame for Britain if Holmes was to be arrested. A man, who had brought down the most dangerous man, Professor Moriarty, years ago and destroyed the biggest criminal network of the world.

My dear friend must have read something from my silence as he sighed heavily and moved to stand in front of the sideboard and started rearranging the bottles of liquor. "I won't hold it against you if you revise your decision, Watson."

I stared at his tense back, without getting what Holmes was talking about. "My brother is right, even a province officer will be able to read in your eyes that the accusations against us are true, if the newspapers and the public attack us for a prolonged period of time." Holmes put the bottle of brandy next to the Irish Whisky before changing their positions again. "We can wait until the issue is solved, before we persuade our relationship or - if you have only now realised how dangerous it is - we can also pretend that nothing has ever happened and..."

"No!"

I was out of my armchair and behind Holmes in a heartbeat. The blood drummed in my veins as I urged my friend bodily to turn around and look at me. He refused at first, but when I grabbed his arm to jerk him around, Holmes gave in with a sigh and leaned back against the frame of the fireplace. The utter misery in his usually sharp, blue eyes took me by surprise. He looked like a man who was doomed to lose everything dear to his heart and I only realized then that Holmes' worry wasn't for his reputation. He wouldn't have entertained the thought of going to France - were homosexual relationships of men were legal in private - if it wasn't for me. Holmes loved London, but he was prepared to leave the city to stay with me, although our departure would look like a confession of guilt. A lump formed in my throat as I understood what it implied when Holmes put me before his beloved work.

"For how long?" I asked and a strange sound - half laugh, half sigh - escaped Holmes' lips. "I should have predicted that you chose this time to be observant, my dear Watson."

"For how long?" I repeated my question, unwilling to allow Holmes to side-track me.

Seconds ticked by and turned into minutes as my friend and I kept staring at each other.

I started to fear that Holmes would never answer my question, when a few words finally tumbled from his thin lips. "Since the night of our first case - _A study in scarlet_ you called it."

My mind reeled in shock as Holmes' confession hit me. The case he was referring to was still clear in my head, especially as it was the first time I had been allowed a glimpse of the genius of my friend. I say _a glimpse_ , because Holmes had managed to excel my expectations in him time and time again in the duration of our friendship. A friendship which had lasted for over a decade by now, as I had met Holmes in 1881 for the first time and we now wrote the year 1895.

Fourteen years, two of which I believed my brilliant friend dead, who had spent all this time harboring feelings for me. My heart went out to my friend, who must have suffered in secret, when I married my beloved Mary and left Baker Street. I had suspected that his desire to start a relationship with me, wasn't born from one of his mercurially moods - Holmes had told me how previous our friendship was to him on enough occasions to rule that out - but I hadn't even dreamed of assuming that...

"Why are you shocked, Watson? I never acted on my feelings and I let you go, when you decided to marry, without offering more than a few misgivings about it."

"I wish you had said something. I wish..."

"It would have been to no avail," Holmes sounded defeated as he stared at a spot on the wall, behind my head. "I didn't think that you would have handed me over to the authorities, but our friendship would have been destroyed. Oh, don't deny it, my dear chap!" His sharp eyes bored into my own. "I read your descriptions of our adventures and although you didn't have any qualms about telling everyone about my brilliance, you didn't consider a physical relationship at that time. No, Watson, you wanted a wife and - preferably - children and I wouldn't have been able to give you the normality of such a life. I'm still unable to..."

I silenced him with a brief kiss to his jaw. "You are right and in review it's probably been for the best that you didn't reveal yourself to me, but I can't help but think that we have wasted so many years."

"Time with you is never wasted, my dear Watson."

I didn't remark on the husky note in Holmes` voice, instead I stepped forwards until our chests were pressed together. "Then stop telling me that it would be better if we stopped what's only just started. I have invaded Afghanistan, I won't allow some stupid law to separate us. I'm rather going to be hung for murder if Mr. Millais isn't careful."

Finally, the tension left Holmes' body as he leaned slightly against me and put his arms on my shoulders. "None of us is going to go to jail or be hung, Watson."

It was a promise and as Holmes was always true to his word, I took faith in it as I rested my head against his shoulder. "We should still take some precautions to be safe," Holmes` chuckle ruffled my hair as he pulled away from me.

"What...?"

"Make yourself comfortable on the settee, Watson, I'm just locking the door. I doubt that the raid, Mycroft announced will take place in the next couple of hours, but I don't want to take more risks than necessary."

Holmes had a point, I admitted, as I sat down on the settee and leaned back against the soft cushions. My heart pounded in my chest as I watched Holmes locking the door, before drawing the curtains shut as well. I spared a fleeting thought to my blood pressure as I wiped my sweaty hands on my trousers, but before I was able to decide how dangerous the nervousness was to my health, Holmes joined me on the settee. Our thighs touched as we sat closer than ever before and it calmed my own nerves to notice - from his fast breathing - that my friend wasn't unaffected by the situation either.

"I think it's for the best if we go from the point, at which Mycroft interrupted us," Holmes suggested with a sly smirk and I didn't see any point in arguing.

The new arrangement created some difficulties at first, as it was highly uncomfortable to turn my head sidewise, while sitting frontal, to reach for a kiss. It took us some maneuvering, until I laid back and drew Holmes on top of me. It was the best position I could think of as I could flicker my tongue over the long, exposed throat of my friend, whenever he drew back for a breath. Soon, our breathing grew heavy and fast as the kisses became deeper and Holmes settled more of his weight on top of me.

I didn't spare a thought about lying underneath a man like that as my hands roamed over his back and I thrust my tongue in his mouth to get a taste of him. Holmes moaned quietly into the kiss as he pressed his hips down and I felt his erect maleness pushing against my own hard length. I had never felt so turned on by a man in my life and my hands itched to retrieve us both of our clothes and find pleasure in each other's arms, but Holmes had different plans. After an especially heated kiss, that sent electric sparks down my spine and directly to my loins, he drew back and leaned on his forearms, so that nothing touched, but our entwined legs.

"Holmes," I protested, but my friend shook his head.

"We can't go farther than that, now, Watson. It wouldn't help our case if the Inspectors of Scotland Yard were to find evidence of our passion on our clothes or elsewhere. In fact, I presume it's for the best if we both take advantage of the cold water in the bathroom and then engage in other activities. You still have a medical essay to read and I'm going to start on an experiment, which will stink bestially, once it has reached its final stage."

As logical as Holmes' words sounded, I was still ready to protest, when I noticed the flush that stained the usually pale face of my friend. His lips were pink and swollen from our kisses and his eyes gazed feverish and hungry at me. The knowledge that it was as hard for Holmes to stop at this point as it was for me, gave me the strength to nod my agreement to his plan. Though, I still swore that I would make up for that missed chance at the next possible opportunity as Holmes disappeared into the bathroom.


	6. Raid

**Author Notes** : As you see, I was able to update faster this time and I hope to keep it this way for the next chapters, but I won't make any promises. ^^ This chapter contains smut... and that's the only warning you get. ;)

 **Raid**

The anticipated raid took place around eight in the evening. Holmes 'experiment hadn't reached its final stage yet, which was my fault, as I had interrupted it by forcing him to have dinner with me.

As I got up from my armchair to welcome Lestrade and the two - still young - Constables in our flat, I noticed Holmes putting out the flame under the test tube. I sent a thankful prayer that I wouldn't have to endure some bestially stinking chemicals for the rest of the evening. Obviously, it would have taken longer to set the promised smell free than Holmes thought the police would be at the flat.

"Lestrade, Constables," Holmes stepped next to me and extended his hand to the Inspector. My legs became weak with relief as Lestrade accepted the gesture and shook it. Certainly, if he had believed the rumors than he wouldn't have acted so friendly.

"Mr. Holmes, Doctor Watson, I'm sorry to inform you that we have the order to search the flat."

"For what exactly, Inspector?" I asked in surprise. Holmes and I had agreed on pretending not to be aware of the accusations against us. It had the advantage that the police wouldn't think that we destroyed any discriminating material - not that there was any - and Millais would also be informed that we were completely unprepared for his intrigue. Holmes was certain that every information about the raid would find its way to him... and probably to some journalists as well. Not that Lestrade and the two Constables looked like they were keen on gathering any information at our flat, least of all finding any kind of evidences for the crimes we were accused of. As far as I could recall, Holmes had worked together with all three men at some point and they obviously hadn't forgotten how much my friend had helped them by solving their cases.

Lestrade fidgeted nervously with his hands, before he adopted his former attitude and fished out an official looking letter from his waistcoat. "Someone has brought it to the attention of Scotland Yard that Doctor Watson and you, Mr. Holmes, are indulging in carnal activities, which are against the order of nature."

So far, I had thought that I did very well at pretending to be surprised by the official visit of Scotland Yard, but - naturally - Holmes outperformed me. Laughing, my friend leaned back against the wall of the living room and shook his head in amusement. "That's really good, Lestrade. No, no," he held up his hand in protest as the Inspector opened his mouth. "I am well aware that it isn't a joke and I'm quite sure that the newspapers won't take it as one, either, but... You see, Inspector, it's still highly amusing that someone would accuse a mourning widower," he gestured to me. "Of such a crime, although I assume that the attack is aimed against me and not my friend, Watson."

"Strange sense of humor, I would have beaten the crap out of the guy, who accused me of such an perversion," one of the Constables muttered and his sympathy for our situation convinced me that they believed the accusations to be false.

"Oh, I can assure you, my dear Constable, that I would give the liar a rubdown, if I knew who it was. As for now, I only have a few assumptions, but I'm certain that I'll be able to work it out, before you have finished your search."

"We won't need long, Mr. Holmes. It's not as if we are going to find anything," the other Constable offered, before the two men broke up to take a look in our bedrooms. I only spared them a glance, knowing very well that the worst they could find in any of our rooms would be one of Holmes' terrible experiments, as my friend had refused to tidy up his room.

"A brandy, Inspector?" I offered Lestrade a glass and he accepted it with a thankful nod. After preparing two more glasses, for Holmes and myself , we all sat down in front of the lit fireplace. "I don't understand why you have to search the flat, as far as I know, you could only arrest us for the crime we have been accused of, if you caught us... in the act." It was easier than I had thought to play ignorant. Holmes had told me that it would be suspicious if I didn't ask any questions at all and I had wholeheartedly agreed to it. After all, while my friend could look through the most complicated plots in seconds, I always followed a few steps behind his brilliance and Lestrade was well aware of this, as well.

The Inspector scratched his head in embarrassment. "The denouncer is very influential and we didn't have a chance but do as we were told." Holmes snorted at that, but he kept his comment about the dependence of the police to himself as Lestrade went on. "Everyone knows that we won't find anything and even if we did," Lestrade lowered his voice and leaned forward so that the two Constables couldn't overhear our conversation. "I would make sure that every evidence was destroyed. That's why I volunteered to assist with this farce. Scotland Yard has to thank you for a lot, Mr. Holmes and we all respect you, Doctor Watson. I don't see what business of the police it is to stick our nose into the living arrangements of two respectable gentlemen."

A lump constricted my throat as I had to gulp down a large mouthful of brandy to prevent myself from beaming at Lestrade for his warm words. He had practically told us that he didn't care one way or another in what kind of relationship Holmes and I were and that he would even cover us up, if the need arrived. I glanced at Holmes, whose face was still a perfect, neutral mask, but after years of living with him, I noticed the happy sparkle in the depths of his grey eyes as he took in Lestrade's words. "I presume that our opponent, Monsieur Millais - nod if I'm right, Inspector - wants to ruin my good reputation. The working class isn't going to pay much attention to the accusations, but the members of the middle and upper class are going to avoid me, if I can't scatter these rumors."

Lestrade nodded, as he looked thoughtfully from Holmes to me. "I don't know what you did to anger that man, but if you don't have anything to... _convince_ him to stop his campaign against you, maybe it would be wise if the good Doctor and you took separate quarters for the time being."

For once, I beat Holmes to an answer as I snorted at the suggestions and sipped from my brandy. "The press would make it look like a confession of guilt. We can only fight to make sure that the rumors don't have a chance to circulate for too long."

"Very good, Watson," Holmes raised his glass to me. "Don't worry Lestrade, I'm sure that this little storm will die down, sooner rather than later and... Oh look, it seems like we are already getting the news I was waiting for."

I followed Holmes' gaze to the door, where a delivery boy waited to be addressed. "You have a dispatch for me, my boy. Come here and let me see if I have to formulate a reply."

Curiously glancing from Lestrade to me and then in the direction of the bedrooms, where you could hear drawers being opened and shut again as the Constables continued their search, the boy crossed the room and handed Holmes the letter. From my position in the armchair, I couldn't see more than a red wax seal, but I was able to tell from the way Holmes' eyes lit up that it was the promised message from Mycroft. Instead of opening the envelope, my friend - aware of Lestrade's gaze on him - pocketed it in his trousers, scrawled a reply on a piece of paper and gave it to the boy together with six shilling.

"Off you go," he told him and the boy left the flat, right before the two Constables came back into the living-room. The young man, who had searched Holmes' bedroom looked a little sick and I made a mental note to ask my friend what gruesome experiments were hidden in his drawers, later.

Lestrade got up from his chair and turned towards the two Constables. "Well, did you find anything that supports the accusation?"

Both men shook their heads. "The two gentlemen have separated bedrooms and nothing indicates that any carnal activities have taken place there."

The Inspector nodded contently. "That's what I expected. I'm sorry we bothered you, Mr. Holmes, Doctor Watson, I wish you a goodnight, gentlemen."

They were out the door and down the stairs a second later and I leaned tiredly back in my chair as the events of the day started to catch up with me. It was almost unbelievable that I had kissed Holmes - for the first time - less than twenty-four hours ago. So much had happened since then and my body ached for a few hours of sleep, especially as I was sure that the upcoming days would be stressing enough.

Just as I was about to announce to my friend that I would retire to my room, Holmes - who was sitting relaxed in his armchair - erupted in motions. In a swirl of clothes and eagerness, he closed and locked the door, before drawing the curtains shut and turning off the lamps, safe for one on the table between us.

"Holmes..." I started in wonder and suppressed an unmanly squeal as I was pulled up and found myself enclosed by two strong arms. "My dear Watson, I don't know what the next days will bring and although I'm certain that we will be able to prevent any doom from befalling us, we might not have much free time. Come tomorrow, people will start to watch our every step and rumors will spread about us. Tonight might be the last time - for several days - when we can indulge in the activities which we are accused of. Are you still up for it, my dearest?"

Warmth started to bloom in my chest - and other body parts - at Holmes' words and I found myself unable to articulate an actual reply. A brief kiss to my friend's lips was the only confirmation I was able to formulate, but it was enough for Holmes as he captured my lips with his own. A spark of desire flashed through my body as I opened my mouth to Holmes' ministrations. His wicked tongue stroked my lower lip, before pushing in my mouth to give it a throughout exploration. A moan caught in the back of my throat as I pushed against his tongue with my own and grabbed the back of his shirt with my hands to draw him closer.

Impossible to say how long the kiss lasted as we were both flushed and breathless, when we finally parted for air. Holmes' usually pale cheeks were tinted with pink as was the part of his throat, that wasn't covered by his shirt. I traced a finger over his right cheekbone and down to his jaw, marveling as the blush in his face intensified. I couldn't recall anymore why I had called this sensual man a machine or a robot several times in my journals, when it was obvious that he was just as human as every other man I had ever met. No, there wasn't any doubt left that he was in fact a human being, made of flesh and blood, as the lower half of his body pushed against my hips and I felt the proof of his arousal press against my own hard flesh.

A faint crackle as Holmes moved his legs to rub against me rang a bell in my head, but it took me longer than usual to place the memory it was referring to. "The letter," I murmured as Holmes dragged me to his bedroom and closed the door behind him.

"It's from Mycroft, but it can wait, although you reminded me of something else." Holmes reached inside his waistcoat and retrieved a small knife. And not any knife, I noticed, when he placed it on the nightstand. The engraving was unmistakable, even in the dim light of the room: It was the family heirloom of our latest murderer. I raised an eyebrow at Holmes in question, who shrugged lazily at me. "I'm not without fault my dear Watson and I only remembered this discriminating evidence, when the good Inspector was already at our door. There wasn't any better place to hide it than at my person."

My lips turned upwards at his calm explanation, although it shouldn't amuse me that we barely escaped a murder investigation, if the police had found the knife in Holmes' possession. "I wonder if Lestrade would have destroyed this evidence as well."

"I doubt it, he is too good at his job to let such a find go without having a few questions answered and such an investigation would have played directly in the hands of Millais." I growled at the mention of the bastard's name and it would have destroyed the mood, if not for Holmes' next words. "But let's not think of such things now, my dear Watson. The night is short and I intend to make the most of it."

I couldn't argue this point and my mind turned away from evil blackmailers and towards more promising prospects, when Holmes' hands started to wander to the waistband of my trousers and loosened the first button. My erected maleness strained against the fabric of the trousers and it took all my willpower to grab the hands of my friend and prevent him from exposing my erection to his skillful fingers.

"Watson?" It was the first time I heard him calling me with so much confusion in his voice and I smiled slightly as I took a step back.

"I see," Holmes sounded resigned as his sharp eyes gazed at me in disappointment. "I don't blame you for changing your mind. It's certainly the wiser decision if we..."

"Stop it, Holmes!"

I grabbed his wrist to prevent him from leaving the bedroom and interlaced his long fingers with mine. It was dark, the only light in the room came from a dimmed rock oil lamp on the nightstand and I could barely made out the lines of Holmes' face as I looked up at him. Still, it was fairly obvious what he was thinking right now and I swore to do my best to prevent him from wandering down this track of thoughts ever again. "I don't only want a short fling, while fully clothed. If we don't have the chance to be close again for some time, then I at least want to make the best and most of it, but," I leaned forward and pressed my lips to his jaw. "If you touch me now, then I assure you that it will be over very soon."

The tension drained from Holmes' body at my words and I would have given everything to see the expression on his face as he kissed me gently. "I have to apologize for underestimating you yet again, my dear Watson."

I smiled against his lips. "It's a rather selfish wish, as I want to see all of you."

A small, wicked laugh escaped Holmes as he brought some distance between us and started to work at the buttons on his waistcoat. "I fear you won't be able to see much," he paused in his movements to gesture to the sole lamp. "But as you are a doctor, I'm sure you will be able to catalogue me with your hands alone."

"Only my hands, Holmes?" I teased him as I shrugged out of my waistcoat and started on the buttons of my shirt. "That would be a shame, as I also have a very talented mouth."

It felt good and right to fool around with my friend like this and I admitted freely that I had never been so relaxed, when I took someone to my room - only women, if you discounted the few occasions, when I had lend a fellow soldier a hand an vice versa.

"I'm curious if you want to get your tongue on the same parts of me, that I want to taste of you." Never before had the words of any of my former lovers had such an effect on me. I didn't bother with a reply as my mind already supplied me with images of how Holmes was going to use that skilled tongue of his as I undressed in record time. Holmes was only a little behind as he untied his boots and shrugged them off, so that he was free to let his trousers fall to the floor and step out of them, when I was already naked and waiting for him.

Nevertheless, I didn't mind the delay as it gave me the chance to let my gaze wander over the lean body of my friend. I knew from former experiences - when I had to take care of him as a doctor - that his body was well muscled. He was stronger than he appeared at first glance, which had given us an advantage against some opponents over the years. I was also aware that his ribs were far to pronounced, because he didn't eat well, when he was working on a case and that his chest was covered with dark, black curls. In the dim light of the room, I couldn't make out any of these details, but when Holmes shifted to kick his trousers away, I caught a glimpse of his proud manhood. It stood tall against his belly and I licked my lips in anticipation as I stepped towards him.

The first contact of skin against skin was thrilling as I closed my arms around him. The difference in our heights made it impossible for our erections to rub together, but that didn't reduce my arousal. On the contrary, Holmes had to stifle my groan with his lips as his erect manhood rubbed against my stomach and my own maleness pressed against into his thigh.

"Bed," he gasped and maneuvered me towards it. We stumbled gracelessly unto the mattress and it took some shifting around, before we were both lying on our sides, facing each other. Things slowed down a little from there. Where we had been frantic all over each other only seconds ago, we were taking our time to explore the other's body now. My hands roamed over Holmes' chest, played with the curls of black hair as I let the silky texture of them register in my mind. One of my fingertips stroked his nipple and a sharp intact of breath sounded next to my ear.

"Good or not..."

"Good," Holmes sighed in a voice that sent another wave of heat towards my loins. It was a relief that I wasn't a young man anymore, otherwise I would have been close to the pike already. As it was, I was hard as a rock, but not close enough yet to hurry things along. Feeling bold, I pushed against Holmes' shoulder and smiled as he rolled onto his back, drawing me on top of him. "I'm still waiting for the use of your tongue, Watson."

I decided that I liked his teasing tone as I kissed the words from his lips and then trailed a wet line from his jaw to his collarbones and farther down to his nipples. He gasped as my tongue licked at the first one and I took it as a clue to continue. I sucked and licked at the pink bud of flesh, before scratching my teeth over it and gaining a muffled sound from my friend. As I glanced up I saw him biting down on his own arm to prevent himself from screaming out loud. "Take a pillow," I urged him, as I didn't want to stitch the flesh of his arm back together later.

"Always the doctor," he muttered, but there was a rare kind of fondness in his voice that made my heart flatter in my chest.

I waited until he was biting down on the cotton of the pillow, before I moved on to his other nipple. Soon Holmes was reduced to muffled groans and moans against the cotton fabric and I only regretted that we couldn't risk to be heard by Mrs. Hudson, because even his quiet sounds made my manhood throb harder. My friend was just as excited about our activities, as I noticed happily, when I slid down between his legs and stroked his impressive length with my fingers.

He was uncut, the skin of his maleness like velvet against my hand as I felt its texture. I stroked it a few times, testing Holmes' reactions to figure out which tempo and grip he liked the best, before letting my fingers travel down to his balls. Carefully, I cupped them in my hands and felt his erection twitch against my arm at the contact. "You like this," I concluded as the first drops of pre-come leaked from the head of his manhood.

"Really, Watson!"

It was meant as a scold from Holmes, but the desired effect was lost as his voice was hoarse and filled with desire. I wanted nothing more than to bury my face in Holmes' groin and make him forget everything, expect for the feeling of my mouth and tongue on him, but I hesitated for a moment. Holmes had just investigated a case, which had forced him to become intimate with strangers. He hadn't told me how far he had gone - although you could only go _that_ far against a wall, behind a pub - but I wanted to be on the safe side. There had just been an increase of reported cases of syphilis in London and I hated to think that Holmes could have gotten himself infected.

"I might not be a doctor, but I'm not stupid, Watson." I looked up to meet his impatient gaze. "I only used my hands and I haven't indulged in other activities for over a decade now, therefore..." I didn't let him finish the sentence and instead buried my face in his groin, without a warning and nuzzled his soft balls with my lips. The pillow barely muffled Holmes's screams, when I teased them with my tongue and rubbed the head of his manhood with my index finger at the same time. I glanced up to see Holmes biting down into the fabric in desperation and I swore to find out when Mrs. Hudson went out the next time, so that my friend didn't need to gag himself with a pillow. I spared a thought to what would happen if Holmes bit right through the cotton and bathed us both in feathers, but I pushed it aside with a smile. A few feathers on my skin would be worth the feel and taste of Holmes' manhood in my mouth. I inhaled the musky scent of his arousal deeply as I kissed my way from his balls over his proud length to the flushed tip of his maleness.

Holmes was wriggling on the bed by the time I put my mouth over his erection and sucked him in. It was a strange sensation to have my mouth filled with him, as I had never engaged in this particular act with any men before. A few handjobs behind a tent, were nothing in comparison to having an erect penis in mouth. Still, it wasn't unpleasant, just new. His spicy and sharp taste filled my mouth as I flickered my tongue against its head, before guiding him deeper into my mouth with one hand. I had to rely on what I could remember of my encounters with more adventurous women and how they had blown me. As I had been out of my head with lust at this occasions, I only recalled the basics - covering your teeth with your lips and keeping the erection steady with one hand - but I hoped that this was enough for the start and that I would figure out everything else while pleasuring Holmes. Don't get me wrong though, blowing my friend wasn't a task. It was rather a thrill to figure out how to hollow my cheeks and relax my throat to wring the most erotic noises from Holmes' mouth. I bobbed my head up and down, holding Holmes' maleness with one hand, while keeping his pelvis still with the other. Drops of pre-come pearled from his erection and I moaned around the length in my mouth as their spicy and unique taste registered on my senses. Holmes' manhood twitched in my mouth at the sound and I felt an answering pull in my own loins as I dared looking up. From what I could see, Holmes was already completely undone, his neck and stomach flushed and sweaty, his hair disheveled on the pillow as he threw his head back, when I hummed around his maleness again. He had to be very close to orgasm and I felt a wave of pride at giving so much pleasure to my friend as I increased my efforts and soon felt him tensing up on the bed.

"Wa...Watson... I..."

Holmes struggled to sit up, probably to push my head away from his erection, but I would have none of it as I sucked him hard one more time and felt his balls tightening as he reached his climax. I braced myself as his length pulsed his semen in my mouth, but I wasn't prepared the mass of fluids - or maybe I just shouldn't have inhaled right at this time. I coughed and only barely managed to avoid nicking Holmes' softening cock with my teeth. Come ran down my chin and trickled from Holmes' maleness onto the covers, as I finally managed to withdraw my mouth I certainly had to time it better, the next time.

Holmes didn`t notice my little mishap or at least, he didn't comment on it as I laid down next to him. His face was relaxed, all the tense lines gone, as he rode the last waves of his orgasm and I had never found him more beautiful than right in this moment. But this was before Holmes turned towards me to attack my lips with his own and moan in my mouth as he tasted himself on my tongue, before kissing his way down my body.

"Holmes," I protested weakly as he settled between my legs like I had done to him just minutes ago. "You don't think that I wouldn't return the favor, would you, my dear Watson?" I could only shake my head and stuff the pillow between my lips, before Holmes proved to me that he excelled in everything he set his mind on.


	7. Looking for Clues

**Author Notes** : I just want to let you know that I will be away on holidays from the 22. August till the 1th September. If you don't hear from me in this time, don't worry.^^ And now, enjoy this chapter (it's a little longer than usual). :)

 **Looking for Clues**

I woke to the sound of the door closing and bolted upright in bed. The blood rushed through my veins as I tried to figure out if we had a guest or if someone had just left the flat. Usually, I didn't care if Holmes had a client in the early morning hours - the sun was just about to rise- but then, I didn't have to fear to be caught in the bed of my friend. Naked, with the evidence of our passionate lovemaking still sticking to my skin and the sheets. It would be hard to find a believable explanation for the situation, although no one could arrest me for lying alone in the wrong bed of our flat, it would add fuel to Millais' accusations.

I strained my ears again, but I couldn't make out any sounds that indicated that someone was in the living-room and I also couldn't even tell if Holmes was still in the flat or if he had gone out. I didn't expect him to leave me like this and undergo the risk of someone surprising me, while I was sleeping. Still, the cold side of his bed proved that he had started his day, without waking me up and I didn't know what to make of it.

My gaze flickered to the window, where the curtains had been drawn back to let in some of the early morning light. Judging from the twilight that filtered through the glass, it had to be around seven in the morning. Unlikely that a client had come so early to see my friend - and lover, I added with a fond smile - for consolation, but not impossible.

I was just debating the wisdom of staying naked in Holmes' bed versus putting on my clothes and faking to be woken up from a drunken slumber, if someone came in, when the door was opened.

I shrieked.

It was the only reaction I was capable of, until my mind registered who's surprised eyes were looking at me from the doorway and I relaxed against the headboard of the bed. "Holmes, you startled me!"

The thin lips of my friend turned into an amused smile as he crossed the room and stopped in front of the bed, towering over my sitting form. "I could tell that from the sound of your voice, my dear Watson. I wouldn't have thought it possible that you would shriek like a maiden that was caught in the bed of her lover."

I glared up at him, a scathing reply already on my lips, before I thought better of it. This was Holmes, I was used to his comparisons by now and it was pointless to start an argument, about his choice of words, when his smile gave away that he hadn't meant to offend me. "At least a maiden wouldn't have to fear to be brought to jail for spending the night with her lover." Holmes' eyes softened instantly and I wouldn't have believed that this brilliant, but cold, man was capable of such a tender and gentle expression, if I hadn't witnessed it.

"Oh John, you incredible, wonderful man," Holmes breathed as he stole a kiss from my lips and I could only stare at him. He had never called me by my Christian name before and the moment was so special that I felt it should be recognize in some way, but before I could even think of a response, Holmes had already straightened up again. The tenderness was masked once more as he directed his blank look at my nude figure. "Take a shower and get dressed, breakfast is already on the table and we will leave in an hour."

I gasped at him, thrown by his sudden mood change - although I should be used to it by now - as Holmes turned around to leave. He paused again in the doorway and sent me a glance over his shoulder. "We have a lot to accomplish today and it wouldn`t help our case if we spent the next few hours in bed. No man is able to withstand the obvious temptations of his lover and I'm no exception when it comes to you, Watson."

I could only smile happily as Holmes closed the door behind him to give me the chance to get out of bed and ready for the day. Who would have thought that my friend would face the same difficulties as any other man, when faced with the amenities of his lover? I glanced down at my own body, when I threw the covers back and asked myself what Holmes saw in me - not for the first time. My body was that of a man in his forties, fit from the exercise of chasing criminals through London, but not as well-shaped as it had been, when I served in the army. I was smaller than Holmes - but then, most men were - and my hair was starting to turn gray. A terrible scar covered most of my left shoulder and... I stopped at that point as I recalled how much Holmes had enjoyed to touch every part of my body last night and how he had - obviously - enjoyed to be touched by me. Whatever Holmes saw in me, I wouldn't question it, as long as it meant that we would stay like this - friends and lovers - for a long time.

I hurried out of bed and went through my morning routine - which entailed a more throughout shower than usual - before I joined Holmes at the kitchen table. It was loaded with toast, scrambled eggs, bacon, various jars of jam and a steaming pot of coffee. "Mrs. Hudson was here," I realized as I helped myself to a cup of coffee and put eggs and bacon on my plate.

"Yes, she outdid herself," Holmes agreed and I watched in astonishment as he scooped toast and eggs in his mouth. I had assumed that he wouldn't eat anything until the case was solved like he so often did. My bewilderment must have been written all over my face, because Holmes paused in his intake of food to send me an amused smile. "Physical activities can be as draining as mental ones and I can't risk to lose any of my brilliance right now. It's entirely your fault, Watson, that I feel like eating a large breakfast at the moment."

Heat rose in my cheeks as I grasped what my friend was referring to and I had to take a large gulp of coffee, before I trusted my voice enough to speak. "So, you were talking to Mrs. Hudson, when I woke up?"

Holmes nodded again. "I informed her yesterday, before Lestrade paid us a visit, that we would be up around seven this morning and she agreed to prepare breakfast this early. I also informed her," Holmes grabbed another piece of toast and buttered it heavily. "about the rumors that might come up." At these words, I glanced at the morning newspaper, which sat on the empty chair to my left. It was opened on the sixth page, where the author titled:

 _Raid at Baker Street 221B - Mr. Holmes and his flatmate accused of perverse activities against the rules of nature._

"The article isn't worth the time to read. It only states that the police searched the flat, but didn't find any evidence to support the accusations. Farther, the author tells his readers that it doesn't have to mean anything that the police returned empty handed, since - and that's rather clever - he hints how often I helped Inspector Lestrade with cases. He also takes the time to remind the readers how long we have been living and working together, forgetting to mention that you were married for a few years."

I had expected as much, when Holmes had told me about Millais' plan of revenge and so I calmly helped myself to another portion of eggs, before another question formed itself in my mind. "How did Mrs. Hudson react to the news?"

It wouldn't help our situation if our landlady threw us out, but Holmes' amused grin calmed my nerves, before I had even time to worry. "Mrs. Hudson assured me that she wouldn't be bothered by a few rumors, as long as she didn't have to crawl through a room, while a sniper had his gun pointed at the window again. A remarkable woman."

I agreed silently with Holmes and shoved a piece of toast in my mouth as my friend glanced impatiently at the clock. He barely gave me enough time to wash my breakfast down with a mouthful of coffee, before he jumped up from his chair and grabbed his coat. "Hurry my friend, I have ordered a hackney for half past seven and Ah," Holmes nodded as the bell downstairs was rung. "We have to leave now."

I followed Holmes out of the flat, buttoning my coat as I hurried down the stairs. "Where are we going? And what's with the letter from your brother and..."

"Patience, my dear friend, I'll share everything I know with you as soon as we are on our way."

I didn't argue with Holmes, because I knew from experiences that he would reveal his knowledge when he saw fit and not sooner. So, I climbed into the hackney and barely raised an eyebrow, when my friend told the coachman an address in the East End of the city.

Holmes didn't speak a word for the whole duration of the drive and I kept my mouth closed as well. When the time came, I was sure that Holmes would reveal what we were looking for in this part of the city. The worst part of London, where migrants lived illegally, murders and thefts were an daily occurrence, not to mention all sorts of other disgusting crimes, which I didn't even want to think about. I highly doubted that Millais ran a brothel and forced children to sell their bodies for him, judging from his religious background. Still, I didn't want to rule it out from the start. If I had learned one thing from Holmes then that you should never take anything at face value. Millais' orthodoxy could very well be faked to fool his business partners and the rest of London's high society. I certainly wouldn't put it past a man, who had wanted to pretend his son had been murdered, instead of committed suicide.

That reminded me that I had to ask Holmes - or check the newspapers - later to find out if the news of Frederique Millais' death had already made the news. Maybe the young man had ended his life, because he had found out about his father's dirty business. It didn't even have to have anything to do with prostitution. There were a lot of illegal branches, which allowed a scrupulous man to get rich very fast and I hadn't even started on listing them all in my mind, when the hackney pulled over and stopped. Holmes handed the coachman the money and then I found myself in one of the better parts of the East End. I said _better_ parts, because we weren't in one of the worst neighborhoods of that particular part of the city. From past trips to the East End, most of them with Holmes or on Holmes' request, I knew that we weren't likely to find any brothels here. Also, I highly doubted that we had to fear to be stabbed in the middle of the street, although I would have felt safer if I had remembered to take my gun with me.

My eyes travelled over the battered looking buildings, which were crowded on each side of the street and I felt sorry for every poor soul that had to live here. Mostly, members of the working class - and below - lived to seventh - or in even larger families - in the tiny flats that were only large enough to house two people comfortably. I glanced at my friend, who was scanning the fronts of the buildings, obviously looking for something particular and I felt a sudden wave of gratitude for him sweeping through me. If it hadn't been for him, I might very well have been living in one of these flats, drinking myself to death from the small pension the army gave to me and waiting for death to find me. I certainly wouldn't have started my own practice - and sold it for a lot of money after Mary's death - and I wouldn't have started to write about the adventures of Sherlock Holmes. Hell, I wouldn't even have met him if Stamford hadn't brought me together with Holmes. My life would have been so different without him and...

"There is no need to worry about events that never took place, my dear Watson. You'll never live in such a building, that I can promise you and now stop thinking about it and be so good as to tell me what you think we are looking for."

I was so used to Holmes knowing what I thought that I only gasped in awe at him briefly, before I did as he had asked of me. "I assume that we are looking for something that makes Millais think twice about attacking us again and since we are looking for it here, I figured that he is doing something illegal to gain his money."

From the way Holmes smiled and shook his head at the same time, I could tell that I had gotten it partly right, but not all of it. "Yes, we are looking for something that will stop Millais, but it has nothing to do with his fortune, but rather with Samantha Paulis and her five-year-old daughter Nathalie."

That didn't make much sense, at least not without any context. "Did he have an affair with Miss Paulis or did he - Heaven forbid - assault her daughter?"

Holmes threw me a glance that told me that I was on the wrong track and I frowned as I tried to come up with other reasons for the interest of my friend in the woman and her daughter. "Mycroft told me in the letter that Millais would do anything to keep a scandal from tainting his good family`s name - as we already knew - and he has added the brief article about the deaths of Miss Paulis and the girl."

"Deaths," I echoed. "Was it murder? But if it was, how would Millais be involved in it and why?"

"That, my dear friend, we have to find out and since we have Miss Paulis last address, we will start by asking the neighbors if they have noticed anything suspicious." I opened my mouth to protest and point out to Holmes that we were dressed too nicely to gain the trust of anyone that lived here and that someone would rather rob us than give us information, but my friend had already started walking again. I was left to hurry after him and to watch his back as he turned to one of the houses and opened the front door. The smell of excreta, urine and rottenness hit me and I pressed a handkerchief against my nose and mouth as I followed Holmes up a couple of stairs to prevent my breakfast from making a reappearance. I didn't even have the breath to ask my friend how he knew that we were in the right building, since the houses in the East End didn't have numbers or names on the doors, so I just had to trust Holmes to do the right thing.

We stopped in front of an old, wooden door that seemed to be held in place by a rusty nail alone. Holmes knocked and I held my breath, preparing myself for a fight if a drunken man opened the door to us, but I was disappointed when a woman opened it instead. She had to be in her early thirties, judging from her clothes and the way she did her hair, although the worry lines on her face made her appear at least ten years older. I glanced past her to see two small children playing on the dirty floor and a baby lying in a basket next to them.

"What do you want?" Her eyes took in Holmes' and my fine appearance and another worried line appeared on her face. "My husband is not here. No money either." She made to close the door, but Holmes conjured his most charming smile and held up his hands in a soothing gesture. "We are neither here for your husband nor for money, Madam. We only want to ask you a few questions about Miss Samantha Paulis and her little daughter. She was your neighbor if I was informed correctly?"

The hostility vanished from the eyes of the woman at the mention of Miss Paulis' name, but the lines on her face only deepened as she glanced down the corridor. She relaxed a little, when she noticed that no one was there and took a step back, gesturing for us to come in. I wondered for a brief moment, how she had managed to live up to this age if she was letting two strangers in her home just like this. Maybe, she had been lived in the East End for so long that she didn't fear anything anymore, I mused, when Holmes and I followed her into the kitchen.

We both declined the offer of tea as we sat down at the small kitchen table and the woman told her two eldest children to look after the baby, before she closed the door that connected the kitchen to the floor. "You are detectives? I didn't expect anyone to investigate about her death anymore after almost two weeks."

I furrowed my brow as I listened to her speech. It wasn't the usual accent of the East End, but a nice, flawless English like it was spoken in the middle-class. I presumed that this woman must have endured more in her life than we would ever know if she was living in that small flat now.

"No, we aren't detectives." The face of the woman fell. "I'm Sherlock Holmes and that's my friend and colleague Doctor Watson, we are..."

"Oh, that's even better." A real smile lit up the eyes of the woman as she extended her hand to my friend and I. "Sophie Miller, I have heard so much about you, Mr. Holmes and if someone can bring justice to that bastard, it's you."

Holmes inclined his head at her praise and I saw now that no act was needed here to get information. A fact my friend must have been aware of before we had even set foot into the building as I could tell from the triumphal smile he sent my way. "I'll do my utmost best, Mrs. Miller. Please tell us what you know about Miss Paulis and to which man were you referring just now?"

Mrs. Miller leaned back in the hard wooden chair, her hands fidgeting nervously in the air and I offered her one of my cigarettes. I had seen that movement often enough, when Holmes was out of tobacco and the poor woman deserved at least this small pleasure. She nodded her thanks to me and lit the cigarette with a match, inhaling deeply, before starting her tale. "Samantha and I have lived next door for seven years now. My eldest was just two years old, when we came here." I noticed how her eyes narrowed at that memory and I guessed that it was at that time, when her life had gone downhill. "Samantha worked in a laundry, eighteen hours a day, when I met her for the first time. She was... nice and still full of hope for a better life, although I never figured out how she managed that. Her father had left them with nothing but debts, when he had died and her mother followed him very soon. Samantha was left to fend for herself, when she was only sixteen years old."

"And how old was she, when you first met?" Holmes dug deeper, but without showing any signs of impatience like he so often did, when someone wasn't coming to the point of their tale. "She was eighteen, a beautiful girl, I had to make sure that James - my husband - didn't chase after her. Samantha helped me to get a job at the laundry as well, but I had to stop working, when my second son came along," she gestured tiredly to the hallway, where we could hear the children playing. "It was shortly after he was born that I noticed Samantha getting visits from a man."

Holmes straightened up at that and I was sure that his early assumptions - whatever they were - had just been confirmed. "Was it an older gentleman in his late forties?"

Samantha frowned at him and held out her hand for another cigarette as she shook her head. "No," she took a couple of inhalations from the cigarette. "It was a young man, in his twenties, I think, but he was behaving like a true gentleman, although," Mrs. Miller's lips quirked up a little. "He did make her a child - Nathalie was a beautiful, sweet girl - but who could blame them. And he kept looking after them, they were wanting for nothing, so that Samantha didn't even have to work at the laundry anymore. I don't know why Samantha and Nathalie didn't move away, her lover would have certainly given them money, especially after the visit from that terrible man."

Holmes peeked up at these words and his pensive eyes sparked with newly interest as he leaned forward. "I gather he was a gentleman as well?"

Mrs. Miller laughed at that, it was a bitter laugh and her eyes sparkled with suppressed hatred. "If you are asking if he was a member of the upper-class, then you are right, but if you are asking if he behaved like a gentleman, then you are wrong. He was terrible, I saw him when I got back from the market. He stood in front of Samantha's door and told her - no threatened her - that she should take the money and leave London, if she didn't want something to happen to her daughter."

Holmes folded his hands under his chin, his mind already working out possibilities as Mrs. Miller was speaking, which I was able to judge from his restless gaze. "Did Miss Paulis happen to tell you what the meaning of all of this was?"

From the way he had voiced his question, my friend obviously didn't expect an answer and real surprise lit up his face, when Mrs. Miller was able to provide him with one. "She told me that this old tyrant was the father of her beloved and that he didn't like that his son was with her, but Samantha didn't accept his money and... a week later she and Nathalie were dead."

Holmes nodded, not bothering to show any kind of compassion as he asked his next question. "How did Miss Paulis and Nathalie die?"

At this, Mrs. Miller laughed again. "The doctor, which was called, told me that she confused bear's garlic with lilies of the valley and that she poisoned her daughter and herself, when she made dinner with it."

"You don't believe that?"

Mrs. Miller snorted at that and she didn't need to ask for another cigarette as I offered her one willingly. I had to admit that I was impressed by this woman and how she bore her faith and was still able to care for her fellow human beings at the same time. "I found her - she asked me to come over in the evening - and when I opened the door it stunk. It stunk of chemicals, I know that smell from my time at the laundry and I thought that it was strange, since Samantha didn't work there anymore... and then I found them." Mrs. Miller took a shuddering breath and for one moment, I feared that she would start crying - Holmes hated crying women - but she composed herself a second later. "I told the doctor that they must have been poisoned, because they looked unnatural for dead bodies - rosy and fresh - but... he didn't listen to me."

I nodded in understanding, since I knew from experiences that doctors rarely listened to the suggestions of a layperson, especially not when said person was of the female gender. I just prayed that I hadn't made _this_ mistake at some point during my career as well.

"Do you know anything else? The name of Miss Paulis' lover or..."

"No," Mrs. Miller shook her head, but then a pensive expression appeared on her face. "Samantha once told me that she wasn't a _Miss_ anymore, when one of the market sellers called her with this title. At the time I thought, well," she made a vague gesture and it was clear that she was referring to the existence of Nathalie. "But lately I thought that she might have meant something else. You often hear from couples that marry in secret."

Holmes nodded enthusiastically and I also believed that I started to see where this investigation might lead. So, I wasn't surprised by Holmes' next inquiry. "If she had married secretly, where would she have done it?"

"She would have gone to the Reverend of _St Mary the Virgin_ , the church is just a few streets away from here and she often went there."

Holmes smiled and rose from his chair, extending his hand and a five pounds note to Mrs. Miller. "Thanks for your time and your help, Mrs. Miller. You have led us on the right track and - if I may suggest - keep that money from your husband, since he seems to indulge in cheap whisky."

"Holmes," I warned, since I still remembered how I reacted when he had told me that he knew of the drinking habit of my brother, but Mrs. Miller only accepted the money with a nod and put it in the chest pocket of her dress.

"I hope you'll get him," she murmured as she led us out of the flat and closed the door behind us. Holmes didn't speak - and I couldn't blame him for it, as the smell in the stairway was still terrible - until we were out on the street again.

"Now, Watson?" he asked and I hurried to share my theory with him.

"Very good, my dear friend, we only have to find a proof for it now and I fear," he glanced up and down the street, but then shook his head. "We will have to walk to _St Mary the Virgin_ , since the coachmen don't like this part of the city." I merely sighed and prepared myself to watch out for any possible attackers on our way, since Holmes seemed too absorbed in his thoughts to notice anything out of the ordinary.

OOO

The church wasn't as big as the ones in central London, but it looked at least renovated and not as battered as the buildings, we had come across on our way through the East End.

"Do you think the Reverend is there?" I asked, trying to recall if there was some unwritten - or even written - law that the pastor had to be present at his church all day long. I came up empty handed, as I didn't even know to which confession the church belonged.

"Protestants, probably Methodists, which come here most of the time, but religion has never bothered me much, Watson," Holmes answered my unvoiced question. "I think we will meet the Reverend, since Mrs. Miller told us that Miss Paulis came here quite often and I doubt that she always went to the church at the same time. But we will know that soon enough." With these words, Holmes marched to the simple wooden door of the building and tried the handle, the door opened easily and we entered the semi-darkness of the church. A shiver ran down my spine as I let my eyes wander over the blank walls and the simple wooden chairs of the church. My parents had been Catholics and I was used to much more pompous furniture at churches.

"Holmes," I whispered, well aware that this building was still sacred, although I found it rather depressing. "How are we going to find the Reverend?"

"We don't have to, he has already found us." My eyes followed the direction of Holmes' outstretched finger, where a man - clad in a complete dark suit - hurried in our direction.

"Reverend Clarkson, Gentlemen. I haven't seen you here before." The pastor was almost as tall as Holmes, the hand he held out to us brawny, with long fingers that - judging from his cracked fingernails - were used to physical labor.

"Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson," my friend introduced us and I frowned when the practiced smile fell from the Reverend's face. Instead a piercing look entered his sharp blue eyes as he examined us like we were one of Holmes' disgusting experiments. "I expected that two gentlemen in your position would search help, but I didn't think that you would come to me. Then, I presume that's exactly why you came here, because no one would suspect it."

For a second I wondered if the Reverend had gone crazy or if he was suffering from some neurological disorder, as his words didn't make any sense to me. Fortunately, Holmes was faster to make the connection. His face cluttered shut as all his expressions were masked by a blank look as he met the piercing eyes of the Reverend. "I thought that it was your job to take the word of the holy bible literally and not the articles of newspapers. I wonder why people even bother to come to you, since you seem to judge them, before even meeting them."

 _Newspapers_ , I blinked slowly and then remembered the article about Holmes and I from this morning and the behavior of the Reverend suddenly made sense. Still, that didn't mean that I liked the way he was still glancing at Holmes and I. "You are telling me that you aren't here to pray away your perverse inclinations or at least allow the Lord to help you not to be tempted again by you unnatural needs? You wouldn't be the first men to ask for an exorcism, although I also knew of men who went to see therapists to help them to overcome their perversion."

I clenched my fists at my sides, fighting the urge to beat the superior smile out of the Reverend's face as he told us in no uncertain terms that he was of the opinion that Holmes' and my feelings for each other were against some law of nature - or his Lord's. Not that he knew of our feelings, he had just read an discriminating article and taken it at face value, but that didn't seem to make a difference to the Reverend. It wasn't that I gave a damn about what other people thought about us - as long as it didn't land us in jail - but to tell us that...

"Neither Watson nor I harbor any unnatural feelings for each other, Reverend," the icy voice of my friend made the hairs on my neck stand. I had rarely seen him so angry. "The article was utterly misleading and is a direct result of my investigations of the death of Mrs. Millais, her daughter and the suicide of her husband, Mr. Frederique Millais."

I gasped as Holmes confirmed what I had assumed to be truth after our conversation with Mrs. Miller and Reverend Clarkson stared in shock at my friend. His bewilderment didn't last long though, before it was replaced by a pensive expression as he nodded at Holmes. "What you say make sense, Mr. Holmes. Please follow me, gentlemen, that's not the place to discuss such delicate matters."

We followed the Reverend through the church to a closed door at the far behind of the room. I assumed that his office was behind the door and I wasn't disappointed as he let us in. The room was Spartan, a desk, one chair behind and two in front of it, a cross at one wall and the Bible on the desk were everything there was to see.

We sat and the Reverend glanced at us from over his folded hands. "I must apologize that I accused you of such a horrible crime, Mr. Holmes and Doctor Watson, but I now understand how that rumor started. Mr. Millais senior isn't a man to be crossed lightly and if you already know that his son was married to Samantha Paulis, then it's understandable that he tries to ruin your reputation."

I accepted the apology with a nod, although I still prickled at the thought that this man would be the first to condemn us, if he knew how much truth the article really held. Still, this wasn't the time to discuss such matters and I doubted that I would live long enough to experience a time, when it was allowed to discuss sexual preferences, without fear. Therefore I schooled my features as not to give my thoughts away.

"So, you held the wedding of Mr. and Mrs. Millais?"

The Reverend nodded. "Yes, although I was against it at first, since they had already indulged in activities, which are only allowed after a wedding, but Mr. Millais was able to convince me that it wasn't the fault of the girl and that only the influence of his father had prevented him from making an honest woman of her."

I grinded my teeth at that as I wondered why the Reverend hadn't been killed by one of the inhabitants of the East End already. Certainly, there were enough people that were living together, without being married and it didn't need a genius to figure out that the pastor would deliver such nonsense on Sundays as well.

"So, they only married after Nathalie was born. When exactly?" My friend didn't comment on anything else as he was looking for more information and the Reverend offered them willingly. "They were married four months ago, in secret. Two of my most trusted believers signed the wedding certificate and they promised me that they would announce their marriage as soon as Mr. Millais had told his father about it. As you already knew, Mr. Holmes, it never came to that."

Holmes nodded thoughtfully. "Someone told us that Mrs. Millais and her daughter didn't die a natural death, what can you tell us about it?"

The Reverend narrowed his eyes and lowered his voice to a whisper. "I wouldn't put it past Mr. Millais senior to make sure that his son was free to marry someone with money to her name. It's terrible if it's true, but it's even worse that Mr. Millais junior didn't come to me for help and instead condemned his soul to the eternal fires of hell."

I frowned, taking in that the Reverend thought it worse that Frederique Millais had killed himself than that his wife and daughter had obviously been murdered.

"Was there an article about Mr. Millais' suicide this morning?" I asked, turning to Holmes, who nodded in confirmation, but didn't say anything else. Obviously, it wasn't the right place or company to discuss these matters.

"Would it be possible to have a copy of the marriage certificate, Reverend Clarkson?" I expected the Reverend to protest and to tell us that he couldn't hand it to us, instead he opened one of the drawers of the desk and handed us a certified copy. "I liked Mrs. Millais, she would have been a fine woman if certain events hadn't driven her into poverty. Her daughter and she are with their Lord now and don't need your help anymore, Mr. Holmes, but I'm gladly helping you if it means that justice will find Mr. Millais."

Especially, since he didn't go to the church of the Reverend, I thought to myself, but was still thankful as Holmes took the copy from him and got up. I followed his example, as Holmes obviously didn't expect to gain any more information from the man and shook hands with the Reverend.

"If you aren't able to dispel the rumors about you, may I suggest that you found yourselves wives to prove Mr. Millais wrong?"

I glared at the Reverend as he led us to the front door of the church. "My wife died two years ago," I pressed out. "I swore to myself that I wouldn't marry again after she was gone and I won't break this promise just to appease the public."

It was - surprisingly - the right thing to say as a real smile appeared on the face of the Reverend as he clasped my shoulder. "You are a fine gentleman, Doctor Watson, a vow before God is binding and it's a relief to know that there are still men like you." I only nodded, fearing that I would make a scathing remark or laugh at the Reverend if I opened my mouth. We bid our goodbyes, before he could ask Holmes if he wasn't interested in a marriage, as I couldn't presume how this would have ended.

"Do we have enough to get Mr. Millais arrested now?" I asked as we walked down the street to the next station of the underground train. To my disappointment, Holmes shook his head. "We don't have enough evidence yet and I don't want Millais to notice that we are investigating in this case, before he isn't completely caught in our net and unlikely to get free again. Still, we have enough information to work with and I'm sure that we will have gathered enough evidences against him in a few days, a week at the most."

The shock must have been written all over my face, because Holmes squeezed my shoulder reassuringly as we entered the station. "'Everything takes time, my dear Watson, and it will be for the best if Millais is left to believe that he is destroying us, when we are already working on our revenge."

"But," I protested quietly as we got our tickets and went to the platform. "Won't he have a lot of time to attack us if we don't act right now?"

"Oh yes, he is certainly going to attack us," Holmes sounded much too eager about this possibility for my liking. "And he will feel safer the longer he is allowed to proceed with it. Don't worry, my dear chap, I doubt that his attacks will get too bad in the duration of a few days."

I didn't get the chance to reply, because the train arrived at the station in this moment, but I felt an irrational wave of fear pass through my body as we climbed in one of the carriages. Not wanting to deal with it and believing that Holmes was right, I pushed it away as the train gathered speed. I would later recall this moment and curse myself for my own stupidity, when it was already too late for any kind of remorse.


	8. Reactions

**Author Notes:** I must apologize for the long wait, but between holidays, cosplay conventions and RL, I didn't find much time for this story. I hope this chapter makes up for the delay. :) **  
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 **Reactions**

I returned to Baker Street alone. When we had reached the station closest to our flat, Holmes decided that he had to take care of some business or another first, before returning home. Needless to say that he didn't inform me what was so important that he couldn't have lunch with me first.. Not that I wasn't used to his behavior by now and I doubted that Holmes would ever change his ways and to be honest with myself, I didn't want him to change. Yes, he had the gift to annoy me with a few well placed words or when he left me standing in the street alone, but he wouldn't be Sherlock Holmes, if he acted differently. Sherlock Holmes, the man that held a special place in my heart.

I smiled to myself as I entered our home and was greeted by Mrs. Hudson, before I had the chance to climb up the stairs. You didn't have to be Sherlock Holmes to notice from her expression, that something was troubling the elder woman. I just hoped that it wasn't anything serious as she wrung her hands in her apron.

"You have got a lot of letters and telegrams, Doctor Watson," she vanished in her flat briefly and came back with a pile of papers. I frowned down at them. "Are they all for me?" I doubted it, because Holmes was the one of us, who got the most correspondence and I didn't have anyone, who would write me a letter.

Mrs. Hudson shook her head as she handed the pile to me. "Most of them are for Mr. Holmes, but some of them are addressed to the both of you, Doctor Watson," I frowned at that and almost missed the faint blush on Mrs. Hudson' face as she continued. "I happened to look at some of the telegrams and," the lines in her face deepened as she sighed heavily. "Be careful, Doctor Watson and pass the warning on to Mr. Holmes as well. He will probably laugh about the worries of an old lady, but there are people that take this stupid article from this morning seriously. Some of them might forget that they are English gentlemen."

I smiled fondly at our landlady and nodded at her. "Don't worry, Mrs. Hudson, we will be careful and Holmes is certain that everything will be sorted out in a few days."

Mrs. Hudson smiled tight lipped at me. "I trust Mr. Holmes' judgment and I pray to the Lord that he is right about it, but such rumors have a tendency to have a self-perpetuating circle. I'm only glad that he has such a good friend in you, Doctor Watson. I would hate to see him hurt, after everything he has been through and I certainly don't want to outlive him... again."

My heart warmed at her words and I squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. She reminded me of my mother, sweet and gentle, but resolute at the same time and I was more than happy that Mrs. Hudson was our landlady. "I'll look through the correspondences now and when Holmes comes back you can tell him again what you told me."

A quiet, but honest laugh, escaped Mrs. Hudson at these words and she shook her head as she patted my cheek. "He would only laugh at me, but I appreciate the sentiment, Doctor Watson. Lunch in an hour!" Holmes hadn't told me to wait for him with the meal, so I agreed and finally climbed up the stairs to our flat.

I took my time, getting comfortable in my armchair and arranging the letters and telegrams in two piles on the table next to me. Deciding that it would be faster to go through the telegrams first I took the first one in hand and frowned at the words.

 _No need for your help anymore, Mr. Holmes. Please cease to investigate in my case. Don't contact me again. Sir Eric William Mellington_

It was one of Holmes' private cases. I remembered that it had to do with a theft and a missing maid, nothing spectacular, but I had gotten the impression that Sir Mellington was interested in getting his possessions back. Obviously, I thought bitterly as I put that telegram aside, Sir Mellington was more worried about being associated with someone who was rumored to be an invert than to get his money back. Holmes would certainly be able to tell me what that said about his character, but I wasn't interested in analyzing the man and so I turned to the next telegram.

 _If possible, keep investigating in my case, Mr. Holmes. Everything as agreed. Richard G.H. Taylor_

After this, I started to order the telegrams in three piles. One for the people that didn't want Holmes' help anymore, a second one for people with more common sense and the third one for threats. I admitted freely to myself that I was relieved, when I finished with the telegrams and noticed that most telegrams were in the second pile. Obviously, most people still wanted my friend's help, no matter the rumors. There were only five people that didn't want to be associated with Holmes any longer and the four threats were rather stupid.

 _You should be castrated and imprisoned! I'd do the first myself!_

Of course, these telegrams weren't signed by anyone, but I still kept them, because Holmes might want to find out where they did come from. Maybe, Millais was behind these threats as well to intimidate us. I certainly wouldn't put it past him.

Mrs. Hudson took away the decision if I should take a break, before starting on the letters. when she arrived with the lunch in the living-room. The scent of roast pork and potatoes filled my nose and I gladly sat down at the table.

"Enjoy your meal, Doctor Watson."

I did just that and then enjoyed a lazy hour, just sitting in my armchair and staring out of the window, before I returned to the letters. It was like with the telegrams, some people informing Holmes that they didn't want to work with him anymore and others confirming that they still wanted him to investigate their cases. The only two remarkable letters were from a therapist and a politician. My friend had helped the latter some years ago and I was curious what he would have to say, especially because the letter was addressed to Holmes and myself.

 _Dear Mr. Holmes and Doctor Watson,_

 _I'm sorry to hear that such rumors have started to rise and in view of my position I must ask of Doctor Watson to not publish about the case, you - Mr. Holmes - helped me with. Any mention of our association could lead to dire consequences. I hope that you understand my wish and if I can do anything for you, let me know. A cousin of mine has a house in the South of France._

The letter wasn't signed, probably to stop anyone from finding out who our former client was. It was just too stupid, I thought bitterly, that he had used the family crest to seal his letter. I was in a bad mood, when I opened the letter from the therapist and I didn't even finish reading it, before I threw it on the ground. I had heard once too often in one day that it was considered unnatural to be with my friend and that we had to overcome our disgusting urges before it was too late.

If my feelings for Holmes were truly unnatural - what I highly doubted - then I would gladly go to hell, before giving up a life with my friend. Since, I even doubted that something like a hell existed - you can only spent so many days watching your comrades die before you start doubting the existence of a paradise and its counterpart - I wasn't going to abandon Holmes on the off chance that some pastor was right about it.

It took my five cigarettes to calm down a little and I was wondering if I should take a walk to let off some steam, when the girl brought me another letter and a telegram. I sighed and thanked her, but after the first few words, my anger was gone.

 _Watson, I have urgent matters to take care of. Don't expect me to be home before midnight. The letter contains important evidence. S. Holmes_

I couldn't remember a time, when Holmes had sent me a telegram just to inform me that he was going to be late and I grinned to myself as to what it meant, coming from this man. My mood wasn't even subdued, when I found the copy of the wedding certificate of Mr. and Mrs. Millais in the envelope. Holmes had obviously deemed it necessary to send it to me and I didn't expect him to add affectionate terms to the letter, especially when he had just entrusted me with such an important evidence.

I stored it away in one of my drawers, putting some of my journals on top of it, before informing Mrs. Hudson that Holmes was expected to be back late this night and that she shouldn't be alarmed if she heard the front door at a late - or early - hour. At least, Mrs. Hudson wouldn't have to keep the front door open, as Holmes had his own keys, although I didn't know if they had been provided by Mrs. Hudson or if he had made them himself. I didn't give it much thought and I also didn't try to figure out where Holmes was or what he was doing. It was impossible to follow the thought process of my friend and I doubted that anyone - besides his brother - was able to keep up with Holmes.

The rest of the afternoon passed peacefully, I finished reading the latest medical essay and accepted a few more letters and telegrams for Holmes and myself, before Mrs. Hudson brought dinner. After finishing the meal, I spent another couple of hours smoking and reading one of the newest adventure stories - which Holmes detested - before calling it a day.

Big Ben beat ten, when I turned off all the lights - Holmes didn't have any problems navigating in the dark - and laid down in bed. The last days had tired me a little and I looked forward to a restorative night.

OOO

I didn't sleep deeply.

I never had, since my time in Afghanistan and living with Holmes had certainly done nothing to get accustomed to a regular sleeping cycle. So, it wasn't surprising that I woke in the middle of the night, when I heard noises from the living-room.

I said noises, but it really only sounded like someone stumbling through our flat. In all honesty, it shouldn't have woken me so suddenly, as I was used to Holmes' bad habits of ghosting through the flat at nightly hours by now. Still, if Holmes experimented or read the files of a case, he usually didn't make so much noise. Just when I thought this to myself, a loud thud - as if something had hit the ground very hard - sounded from downstairs and I was out of the bed in an instant.

I didn't bother with a dressing gown as I lit the candle on my nightstand and went into the living-room. It was dark in there, Holmes - I recognized his figure in one of the armchairs - hadn't bothered to turn on any lamps.

"Holmes," I called out, wondering why he sat in the dark living-room, instead of either turning on the light or going to bed. In the dim light of the candle I could only make out how my friend moved his head in my direction, while the rest of his body remained motionless. "Ah Watson, I'm sorry that I woke you... I was just... thinking...Ahh!"

The pressed tone of Holmes' voice and the pained hiss at the end of his sentence, sent thrills of alarms down my spine. I almost stumbled over my own feet, when I hurried to turn on as many lamps as possible, until the living-room was bathed in a soft light. My mind registered the ashtray on the floor, which must have fallen to the ground, when Holmes had stumbled against the table and by God...

I was next to my friend in an instant, leaning over the armrest of the chair and peering at him in horror. A long, angry cut ran from his left ear over his cheek to his nose. His right eye was swollen shut and colored in all the shades from blue to purple. The skin of Holmes' lips was split and bleeding, I made a note to check his teeth, later to make sure that they didn't need treatment as well.

In all honesty, Holmes' face made for a horrible sight, but I had seen him in worse conditions and as a doctor I could tell that his injuries weren't dangerous. They would be healed in about a week and if his teeth were fine, there wouldn't be any need to worry about them, but...

My hands shook as my eyes wandered to Holmes' shirt - ripped in some parts and soaked by a dark liquid in others. Blood, my brain combined, as I put the candle on the table, when I didn't trust my fingers any longer to hold on it. There was no trace of Holmes' waistcoat or coat and I spared a moment to wonder if he had lost it or if his attackers - plural, because I knew that one man wouldn't have been able to injury my friend like this - had taken it with them.

"My coat on the floor... somewhere... I don't know... where my waistcoat is." Holmes' voice startled me from my thoughts and reminded me that I wasn't of any use to my friend, if I just stood there and stared at him. I was a doctor, for God's sake, I had to check his injuries, vet him and decide if he had to go to hospital or not.

"How bad does it hurt and how many of the blood on your shirt is yours?" My voice was steady as I spoke, while I mentally made a list of the necessary equipment to treat Holmes' injuries. Hot water and Ethanol to clean the wounds, needle and yarn to stitch the skin back together, if necessary and Laudanum against the pain, if Holmes was in as bad a shape as it appeared to me.

"It's barely tolerable," Holmes' pressed out to my first question and then glanced down at himself. "I got a cut... across my chest, most if it... should be from there... some of the blood... might also be from... one man, when I... used his knife... against him..." Sweat pearled from Holmes' forehead and I noticed with fear that his face had lost the last of its color and that its skin had turned an alarming shade of gray.

"I'm back soon," I assured him, before I hurried to get my medical kit from my bedroom and turned on the hot water in the bathroom, before stirring the flames in the fireplace as well. Not more than a few minutes could have passed, before I returned to Holmes' side, but if possible, my friend had gone even paler in this small amount of time. He had to be in a lot of pain.

I put some of the hot water in a cup and added a few drops of Laudanum to give it to him later. Many doctors were of the opinion that men should be able to endure pain and that pain relievers would render the men effeminate, but I wasn't one of them. I certainly couldn't sit by and watch Holmes suffer, when I had the means to help him at hand. Though, before I could give him anything to make it more bearable, I had to check his chest and abdomen for more serious injuries first. I wasn't going to risk any internal bleeding or punctured organs. It was bad enough that I had seen comrades die of such injuries and I didn't Holmes to share their fate.

"I have to take your shirt off and feel for hidden injuries," I informed him.

"You mean... the rests of... it," Holmes shuddered from the effort to form words and I grinded my teeth to fight against the anger at whoever had done this to him. It wouldn't help us if I lost my temper as it was absolute priority to take care of my friend right now. "Can you lean forward a little?"

Holmes didn't reply, but instead did as asked and allowed me to peel the rests of his shirt from his body. He hissed when my fingers touched his back and I gulped, when I noticed the weals that could only come from a whip. Some of them were bleeding, but they didn't appear threatening at first glance and would probably heal nicely if they were disinfected. "Holmes, I have to feel your abdomen and chest now. You have to tell me if it hurts somewhere... if it hurts worse when I touch it, I mean."

Thin lips curled into the weak imitation of a grin, before Holmes closed his eyes, leaned carefully back against the backrest of the chair and nodded. "Go ahead, Doctor Watson."

I started with his abdomen and felt the pilable flesh of it, as I searched the area for bruising, but I didn't find anything out of the norm. Obviously, the attackers had directed their attention to Holmes' back and not to his front. I allowed myself a relieved smile, before I went to examine his chest. The cut, which ran from his left shoulder to his right nipple, wasn't as deep as I had feared and the pain didn't seem to increase, when I checked his ribs for fractures. "You don't seem to have any internal injuries," I announced. "Do you have any problems with breathing?"

Holmes shook his head quietly, his lips pinched in a thin line and I grabbed for the water with Laudanum at once. "Take this, it will help with the pain." When blue eyes looked at the liquid in disgust, I held it to Holmes' lips. "I know that you hate it when your brain gets foggy, but I doubt that you are able to think clearly, while you are in so much pain. At least, you won't keel over from the pain if you take some of it."

Holmes narrowed his eyes, but finally opened his mouth and allowed me to give the pain relievers to him. I waited until he had drained the whole glass, before I put it away and thought about my next course of action. It would be the best to wait until the pain relievers took effect, before I started to clean the wounds, but I knew as well that he wouldn't stay awake for long, afterwards and it would be easier to treat his injuries, when he could still cooperate with me.

Thankfully, my friend took the decision from me. "If you are so... worried about hurting me... just start with... my back or... face."

It was a sensible suggestion, because stitching his chest would certainly cause more pain and the wounds had to be cleaned. I decided to start with Holmes face and soaked a cotton ball with Ethanol, before cleaning the cut on Holmes' cheek. It wasn't as deep as I had feared, the dried blood had made it look worse than it was. It seemed like the blade of a knife had only scratched the skin and if it healed properly, it shouldn't even scar.

The eye was a different matter altogether. The bruising didn't worry me, but Holmes would have to open it to allow me to make sure that it wasn't damaged in any other way. "You have to open your right eye, I have to... thanks."

I hated myself, when Holmes suppressed a wince as he peeled his eye open, but I reminded myself that it had to be done. There wasn't any bleeding in the white of the eyeball and his pupils reacted normally when I moved my hand over the eye to block out the light. I heaved a sigh of relief, before turning to Holmes' mouth. A sudden wave of rage made me tremble as I examined his battered lips, which I had only kissed hours ago.

"My teeth are fine," Holmes murmured, when I was about to ask him to open his mouth.

"Are you sure?"

He nodded. "I propped them with my... tongue, they are all... stabile and there isn't any... blood." His voice was still laced with pain, but there was the barest hint of sleepiness that reminded me that I still had to take care of the wounds on his chest and on his back, before Holmes fell asleep.

"Chest first!" I smiled slightly at the command, glad that Holmes could still observe and deduce my next steps, although he had been beaten up and was in pain. "Alright," I agreed and started with cleaning the cut. It was deeper than the one on his face, but it would only need a few stitches to heal properly.

"It might hurt a little," I warned Holmes, when I disinfected a needle with Ethanol and made to start on my work.

My friend only snorted at. "Just do it, Watson." His words already started to slur together and I hoped that the numbing agent of the Laudanum had already kicked in, so that I wouldn't cause my friend much more discomfort.

The need to stitch wounds hadn't arrived in a few years, but since Holmes made me practice a few times every year - on helpless, dead chickens - I was confident enough that I would get it right.

Holmes tensed at the first stitch, but soon relaxed and I took that to mean that I didn't cause him as much pain as he had feared. Still, I did my best to finish my job quickly and could soon admire my handwork. The stitches weren't perfect, but they would do their job and I disinfected the wound once more. I was about to start on Holmes' back, when the eyes of my friend fluttered closed and his head dropped to his chest, before he jerked up again.

No, that wouldn't do, I decided as I took in his position in the chair. Lying down, on his side would be the best way to take care of his back. "Come, we will finish the job in bed, Holmes."

His good eye narrowed at my words and I feared that he would argue with me, before actual words left his mouth. "I would have preferred to hear that under... different circumstances, Watson." In spite of the whole situation my lips quirked up at his innuendo and I couldn't stop myself as I pressed a light kiss to his forehead. "I'm sure to say it again, when you feel better."

Holmes nodded, obviously too tired to argue with me and I helped him out of his chair, mindful of his back, when I led him to his bedroom.

I made Holmes sit down on the side of his bed, while I covered it with towels to prevent the duvet covers from getting ruined. An extra soft towel was placed on the pillow, before I helped Holmes to lay down. It took some arranging, before he bedded the cheek with the scratch on the pillow, so that his bruised eye didn't come into contact with the material. It would take time, until the swelling was gone and I couldn't do much to speed up the recovery. Cold water and some salve from the apothecary were the only remedies for a black eye. But before I could worry about this, I had to take care of Holmes' back.

I retrieved my medical equipment from the living-room and soaked a washcloth with cold water to bring back to Holmes. He was breathing more freely than before, but he hadn't managed to fall asleep yet, which was good, considering that he would have woken up as soon as I started to clean the marks on his back.

"Here," I pressed the washcloth carefully to his eye. "Hold that in place, it will help with the swelling."

When Holmes did as I had ordered, I made fast work of his back. There wasn't as much cleaning to do as I had feared, most of it were bruises and only a few parts of his skin were scratched. My friend didn't utter a single sound while I worked on his back and I thought that he had fallen asleep, by the time I put my equipment away, when he proved me wrong. "Thanks, Watson."

These two simple words went directly to my heart and I had to gulp a few times, before I trusted my voice to be steady again. "You're welcome, Holmes."

Dear God, I hated how broken and vulnerable my friend sounded and I hoped that I would get the chance to take revenge on the bastards that did that to him. I only then remembered that Holmes hadn't told me what had happened, yet, but... it had time until later, when he felt better. It was more important that he had made it home safely, everything else could wait a little longer. With that in mind, I worked his shoes lose and put them next to the bed to allow my friend the best possible rest, before covering the lower part of his body with a blanket.

"Watson," I stopped on my way around the bed, when Holmes called me back. "Would you... stay?"

I took a shaking breath at the needy sounding question. Holmes had never asked me to watch over him, when he had been injured before and that he felt the urge to do so now... I squeezed my eyes shut and fought against the traitorous moisture that threatened to spill over, before I felt strong enough to fulfill Holmes' wish.

"Of course, my dearest friend, of course," I murmured as I climbed in bed next to him, mindful not to make too much movement as I settled down and covered myself with the blanket.

I would have loved to take Holmes in my arms to offer him some sort of comfort, but any unnecessary touch would result in more pain than relief. So, I was left with taking his hand - that wasn't holding the washcloth in place any longer - and intertwined his fingers with mine. A thanks might have ghosted over his lips, but I couldn't be sure, as his deep breathing suggested that Holmes had fallen asleep only moments ago. I watched my friend in the darkness, holding his hand in mine and feeling the steady pulse against my fingertips as I lay awake while Big Ben counted the hours till sunrise.


	9. The Morning After

**Author Notes** : I must apologize for the long wait, but another story and RL got in my way. We are nearing the end of this story, as there will only be one more chapter after this one. :) Enjoy the rest of the journey. =)

 **The Morning after**

Sometime during my watch, I had fallen asleep. When my eyes blinked open to the sunlight that streamed through the semi-closed curtains, the first thing that registered in my mind was the feeling of being watched. I shifted a little under the covers and turned my head to meet Holmes' open eye - the other one still looked terribly swollen.

"Good morning," I yawned and tasted for his hand. It came as a surprise to me, when Holmes allowed me to interlace our fingers again. I had expected him to mutter something about _unnecessary sentiments_ and draw away from me. Obviously, I still had a lot to learn about the man, with which I had shared a flat for over a decade and heart, body and soul for the last couple of days.

My eyes remained fixed on the sight of our intertwined hands, how his long fingers hold onto my smaller ones. I couldn't remember ever sharing such an intimate and yet chaste contact with someone else before. I had loved Mary, but I couldn't remember a time when everything had felt so... perfect after waking up in bed next to her.

"Don't think of her."

My head snapped up at the quiet words. Holmes' expression was troubled as he regarded me, but I couldn't deduce if it was mostly because he caught me thinking of my late wife - I wouldn't ask him how he figured that out - or because the effect of the painkillers had worn off. That thought brought me back to more important matters than laying lazily in bed all morning.

"Are you in much pain?" It wasn't necessary to ask if Holmes was in pain at all, everyone would be after getting beaten up like that, I only had to know if it was so bad that he needed pain relievers.

"It's bearable." I frowned at that, as Holmes' view of _bearable_ was the equivalent of _murderous_ for most people. When I drew the covers back a little, I could at least convince myself that the cut on Holmes' chest hadn't gotten infected. There wasn't any redness nor fluid around the cut and when I brought a finger to his skin, it was cool to the touch. "It doesn't seem like you got an infection, but I would like to make sure that the cut heals nicely. The other injuries are all more superficial, but this one", I tapped at his chest. "Has the potential to become dangerous if it isn't monitored tightly. It would be for the best if you don't move around too much and..."

"Alright, Doctor Watson."

I looked up at him to judge if he was mocking me, but Holmes wore a perfectly serious expression and I narrowed my eyes at him. In the time I had spent with Holmes, I had learned that he usually wasn't so docile when it came to doctor's orders. Especially not when he was just investigating in a case. That brought me back to the trouble we had found us both in and I wondered what my friend's injury would mean to our cause.

"You look like something is troubling you, my dear friend." Holmes had inched a little closer and I swallowed hard as I realised how close our faces were. I could feel his breath on my cheek and mouth. My eyes were fixed on his lips... his battered and swollen lips. I sighed. It wouldn't help Holmes' recovery if his lips split open again, just because I couldn't keep myself from kissing him.

"Watson," my friend's voice sounded exasperated and amused at the same time. "I'm not made of glass and I would certainly enjoy some proof of your affection for me, although I'm aware that I'm not up for much else."

A chuckle erupted from my throat, before I could suppress it. Trust Holmes not to be shy about anything. But, I mused to myself, if Holmes demanded of my to break into a house to bring down a criminal then it was only to be expected that he was going to tell me what he wanted from me in a relationship. It was definitely much better than dancing around each other without knowing the next steps.

So I leaned in and pressed my lips against Holmes'. They were dry and I could feel the scab, where they had been split. Carefully, I angled my head to the side and moved my lips against Holmes' without using too much pressure. I half expected my friend to protest against my way of kissing him, grab me and explore my mouth with the passion he had revealed, when we had gone to bed together for the first time. But Holmes allowed me to lead and when I drew back, it was to the look of a relaxed and happy smile on his face.

"I'll just get some salve for your eye and inform Mrs. Hudson that we would like to have breakfast and then... you can tell me how this happened."

"Don't forget to bring the post," was the only reply I got.

I shook my head at that and hurried through my morning routine, before informing Mrs. Hudson of our wishes and hasting to the next apothecary. I was one of the only patrons, as it was only a quarter past eight and most people in this part of the town were either on their way to work or still lying in bed. After telling the chemist that the salve was needed urgently - and handing him more schillings than would have been necessary - he prepared it for me right away. I was back in our flat at nine and greeted by the lovely scent of scrambled eggs, bacon and tea.

"It`s a shame that Mrs. Hudson doesn't have children, she would have made a very doting mother." I took that to mean that our landlady had expressed her worries about Holmes' injuries.

"We should be thankful that we have her as our landlady and housekeeper, everyone else would have already thrown us out," I muttered and then narrowed my eyes at Holmes. "Do you think it's wise to be up already?"

"I can hardly eat while lying in bed and it's not like I'm even fully dressed." Holmes had a point, as he was only clad in a pair of comfortable trousers and had his nightgown loosely wrapped around his body. I went around his armchair and put a couple pillows behind his back to make him more comfortable. The action raised a laugh from Holmes. "I don't think that you are treating all your charges like this."

"You are the only charge I have," I reminded him dryly. "Lay your head back so that I can apply the salve to your eye."

"A bruised eye heals the best when you cool it for the first few days and then, after the swelling is gone, warm it so that the color..."

"May I remind you that I have a medical degree," I scolded Holmes as I put some of the salve on his swollen lid. "I'm well aware that this is the best course of action and I assure you that we will do just that, but there are some salves that can reduce the swelling even faster."

Holmes sniffed as I carefully spread the salve on his eyelid. "Arnica."

I nodded. "It's the best, although you could also use..."

"Slices of raw potatoes."

I almost laughed at Holmes' disgusted tone and I gathered that Mrs. Hudson must have dotted around him longer than I had thought at first. "It really helps, but we will stick to the salve and when the swelling is gone, I can get one made of witch-hazel. It will help to get rid of the coloring faster or I could ask the chemist to mix some Vaseline with chili."

Holmes didn't reply as I put the pot of salve on the sideboard, which I took to mean that he left the decision of the right therapy to me, as he seemed more interested in the pile of mail on the table. "Are you expecting anything special, Holmes?"

"A large, brown envelope with the post stamp of the West End and addressed to _Mr. S. Holmes_ in small and rolling letters."

I had long since gotten past my astonishment for Holmes' deductions and therefore I wasn't surprised when I found the described letter in the pile of mail and handed it to my friend. It felt like three or four paper sheets were tucked into the envelope.

"I didn't know that there was a lady that's smitten with you," I teased my friend, because the small handwriting on the envelope could only come from a woman and I shrank back when Holmes glared at me. "There is no such woman, although I admit that the address was written by one. I paid her to address the envelope and bring it to the post station, when I noticed that they watched it."

It was only thanks to my fast reflexes that the cup of tea was saved from a tumble to the ground at Holmes' revelation. "You, the letter is..."

"Of course, Watson!" Holmes rolled his eyes as he scanned the four sheets of paper, before tucking them back into the envelope and putting it aside. "It would have been much too risky to carry the evidence with me, when I was prepared for an attack of sorts. Don't worry the young lady wasn't harmed in any way and she even got a whole day's pay for her little service. And no," my friend glared at me, when I opened my mouth. "I don't wish to speak of it, until I have finished my breakfast, but then I'll tell you everything from the start, my dear Watson."

My rising anger was dammed by his last words, although it was hard to keep silent and eat breakfast, when I knew that I would be the witness of Holmes' brilliance very soon. I couldn't even start to guess what was in the envelope or why someone had attacked him, so I distracted myself with scanning the newspaper for something interesting, while we enjoyed our breakfast. My eyes got caught by an article on page three.

 _ **Citizens defend morality in London against perverts**_

 _\- Mr. Sherlock Holmes - accused of unnatural acts - beaten up in the streets -_

"Holmes," I started in shock as I scanned the article, which repeated the accusations from yesterday's newspaper and ended that the police was investigating the case. After some of the hateful letters I had read, I had expected some sort of attack, but I hadn't expected it to happen so soon. To tell the truth, I hadn't linked the beating to the accusations until now.

"Oh please, don't be stupid, Watson. It's tedious." An angry retard lay on my tongue, but Holmes continued without giving me the chance to voice it. "Let me just finish my eggs and then we can retire to the living-room and I'll explain everything to you."

It was good that my friend made fast work of his remaining breakfast - it convinced me that his teeth really were fine - since I didn't know if I had been able to stand the tension any longer.

I didn't complain, when Holmes asked for his pipe and tobacco, as I knew about the numbing effect of it. Although it was only minimal, I assumed that Holmes was thankful for the smallest relief of pain. Of course, he didn't say anything to me, but the way he sat carefully down in his favorite armchair told its own tale. He inhaled deeply a couple of times, before his good eye focused on me. "After you went home, I telegraphed to Mycroft and asked him to send me the names of the companies with which Mr. Millais works. I found out that one of them is a chemical manufacture and I paid it a visit. The boss still owed me a favor and I was allowed to take a look in his books. It was as I had presumed after our conversation with Mrs. Miller." Holmes paused to inhale from his pipe and I had to stop myself from urging him to go on. It would only have the contrary effect.

"Chlorine was ordered by Mr. Millais directly, about three weeks ago. That wasn't suspicious, since he is supplying a few of the large laundries in England. Still, it's rather suspicious that a bottle of chlorine was mixed with cyanide in another manufacture and this bottle was delivered to... Can you guess, Watson?"

Angry heat had risen to my face at the description of this terrible crime and my voice wavered with anger, when I concluded everything. "Miss Paulis - or rather Mrs. Millais - got a bottle of the mixed chemicals, masked as washing powder. The smell of the chlorine was strong enough to mask the scent of the cyanide and yet the concentration of the chlorine wasn't high enough to destroy the cyanide completely. Which tells us that the murderer knows something about chemical reactions. If the concentration of the cyanide was high enough, then it would have poisoned her daughter and her, when she washed her clothes the next time, as they would inhale the steams."

Holmes looked pleased as he nodded. "Very good, Watson. Mrs. Millais had to wash her clothes in her apartment, as it wouldn't have been wise to wash them in the streets. Since it wasn't very warm at that time, she wouldn't open the window and the concentration of cyanide was high enough to kill them if they were exposed to it for some time. Mr. Millais only had to wait until the woman decided to wash her clothes the next time and he would be rid off her and her daughter."

I frowned a little at that. "How could he know that her daughter would die as well? She could have been outside and playing or..."

Holmes waved it aside. "It didn't matter. If the girl hadn't died, he could have gotten rid off her easily enough. No one would ask questions if a girl from a poor background vanished."

Sadly, I had to agree with Holmes. It was a daily occurrence that children were kidnapped and sold. If Millais had been able to cover his tracks from his son then the little girl wouldn't have been seen again.

"How do you know that the concentration of the cyanide was high enough to kill them?"

Holmes smirked and grimaced at the same time as the skin of his lips stretched too far. "I let one from the street children search Mrs. Millais' flat and the bottle with the washing powder was still there. It's good that it was found before the next renter got the chance to use it. I sent a telegram to a chemist, that owed me a favor, and he confirmed that the concentration of cyanide was high enough to be conform with my theory."

"Brilliant, Holmes!" I shook my head in awe. "I assume that the papers in the envelope..."

Holmes nodded. "Yes, they are the results of my investigations, I sent another set to Mycroft, so that he can take care of the juristic part of the case. If everything goes as planned - and I'm convinced that it does - Millais will be brought to court for contract murder and reputational damage."

Holmes grinned as he noticed my amazed expression and the moment would have been perfect, if it hadn't been for the injuries to his face, which were impossible to ignore. "You didn't tell me about your attackers yet." I clenched my fists in my lap as I thought of what they had done to my friend.

"You should take a cigarette, my dearest friend, it will calm your nerves." For once, I followed the order without questions, as I felt how strained my nerves already were. It wouldn't do any of us good if I lost my head and stormed out of the flat to find the assaulters, if Holmes' description fueled my anger. It was the right decision to make, as I was barely able to stay put in my chair, when Holmes told me of the events of last night.

Holmes had noticed that he was followed by men, when he had left his hackney in the West End. Instead of going straight to the post station as he had planned, he had entered a little shop and asked the daughter of the owner to address a letter to Baker Street, one to Mycroft and wire to his brother additionally as well. After the girl had fulfilled his request, Holmes had led the men around for some time, until they had ended up in a dark side alley.

At that point, I interrupted him. "Why did you lead them there? You could just have taken a hackney home instead of letting them beaten you up."

To my great surprise, I noticed some color in Holmes' pale face as he met my gaze. "I assure you, Watson, I didn't intend for them to beat me up. I knew that they had to be Millais' men and that they wanted to create some news for the media," he gestured to the open newspaper. "I was prepared for their high number and... I obviously made a miscalculation."

I gasped at him. It wasn't often that Holmes admitted his mistakes - probably because he rarely made any - and it was obvious that he hated to admit that he had been wrong. If the situation hadn't been so serious I might have felt some kind satisfaction, since he never got tired of pointing my own mistakes out to me, but as it stood I didn't feel like indulging in such a petty revenge. "So, they attacked you and... overpowered you?"

Holmes grimaced at that. "Please, Watson, I'm not such an easy opponent. They didn't overpower me right away. I had four of the men down, before one of them managed to cut me with his knife. While I used his weapon against him, they managed to strike me down and... taught me where my place was, as they so eloquently put it." Holmes sneered at that, but I felt an icy fist clench around my heart at these words. The last time, men had used that phrase, I had still been in Afghanistan and a few soldiers had tortured a captive. It had started out with blows and had ended with them stripping the man bare and... I was at Holmes' side in a heartbeat and knelt down next to his armchair, grasping his hand in mine.

"Watson?"

My friend frowned down at me, obviously unable to deduce the reasons for my behavior. I stared into his face, willing him to tell me if these men had hurt him in the brutal way, I had just imagined, without making me ask him directly. It was hard enough to ask a woman such a question and I didn't have the first clue how to make Holmes talk about it. "These men... how did they... _teach you your place_?"

If possible, Holmes' frown only increased. "You saw the marks on my back, Watson. Certainly you are smart enough to figure out..."

"No... I mean, yes, I saw them, but... did they do anything else?" My heart pounded in my chest and threatened to force my ribcage open as I waited with bated breath for Holmes' answer. Silently, I prayed that I was wrong, that nothing so terrible had happened to my friend. Picturing that these bastards had touched and brutalized my friend in such way, was enough to make me sick and I felt my hands tremble as Holmes finally answered.

His voice sounded chocked as his good eye focused on me. "My dear Watson, I assure you that no other part of my body needs your medical attention. They didn't so much as touch me below my waist, but", his hand started to tremble as well. "How do you even come to think of that? Tell me, my dearest friend, did someone ever..."

He coughed quietly. My heart was still in the process of calming down his erect beating after Holmes' assurances, so it took me a moment to follow his track of thoughts. I gaped at him, noticing anger, worry and helplessness written all over his face. A shuddering breath left my lips as I realised that all these emotions were for me, that Holmes was feeling so torn, because he feared that something terrible had happened to me at some point in my life. A small smile - unfitting for the situation - flickered across my face. "No, no one ever touched me in that manner."

Holmes' good eye closed as relief flowed his features, before it pierced down on my again. "Then how did you come to that conclusion? Most men don't even think..."

"Most men weren't at war. Believe me, Holmes, I saw things that I would rather forget."

He nodded, understanding written all over his face as we remained silent for the time being. The silence between us wasn't uncomfortable at all, although a random observer would have certainly found our representative positions more than awkward. I, kneeling at Holmes' side and holding his hand, whilst my friend was smiling down at me and smoking his pipe.

"It's good that Mrs. Hudson didn't chose that moment to come up to our flat," Holmes remarked, having followed my train of thoughts again.

I shrugged, still feeling a little lightheaded with relief as I looked up at my friend. "Better than if she had caught us kissing."

"Very true... and by the way, Watson, you haven't asked me yet what our next steps against Millais are going to be."

I slapped his thigh playfully, knowing my friend well enough that he couldn't keep his plans a secret for long at this point. "So, you tell me then, Holmes."

My friend smirked and inhaled deeply from his pipe. "Nothing."

I gaped at him. That was the only answer I hadn't anticipated. "Nothing, but..."

"There is nothing to do for us anymore, Watson. Mycroft has all the information he needs to make sure that the police investigates Millais and I'm certain that the public is going to know of his crimes by the end of the week. The case is closed for me and if we hadn't been involved personally, then we could already move on to the next one."

"But we can't," I told him. "You are injured and the opinion of the public is going to get farther influenced by Millais."

Holmes shrugged and winced quietly at the same time. "The public will change their opinion of us again, after it becomes public knowledge what Millais did. Mycroft will make sure that it seems like Millais feared that I came behind his crimes and attacked my reputation to gag me. As for my injuries," Holmes put his pipe on the table and stretched his arms a little, and grimaced at the pain, the movement caused him. "I`m sure that it will only take a couple of days before my back is mostly healed and my lips might not even take that long."

The teasing grin pulled an answering smirk from my lips as I squeezed Holmes' knee through his trousers. The next few days sounded to turn out more promising than I would have dared hoping, when I woke up today.


	10. Epilogue

**Author Notes** : This is the last chapter of this story and I hope you all enjoy it. :)

Thank you **Yen** for your undying support.*hugs*

 **Epilogue**

"It's very interesting how fast the opinion of the public can change."

A snort sounded next to me. "Please, Watson, it's really not that surprising that people will believe the loudest screamer or the boldest headline. It's not by chance that believers are compared to sheep that follow their herdsman."

I didn't comment on that, although I silently had to acknowledge Holmes' observation as accurate. It had taken Mycroft Holmes five days to put the charges against Millais together and collect even more evidence for other illegal business deals. Three days ago, the police had taken Millais in custody and the accusations against him had become public. The press had had a field day, when they got hold of the information of the marriage of Millais' youngest son to a poor girl from the working class and most people had been outraged when they learned what Millais had done to get rid of the girl and her daughter. Of course, Millais was denying everything and it wasn't clear yet if he would go to jail for the contract killing of two people or not. For certain was only the destruction of his carefully built reputation and that he would never gain foothold in London again, in the foreseeable future.

"You must admit, Holmes, that the public apologies of the newspapers were rather nice."

My friend snorted again and shook his head in amusement. "Yes, it was quite heartwarming when they apologized for _causing a mourning widower even more grief by accusing him of a horrible crime, when he only wanted to spend his days in peace and in remembrance of his late wife_ ," Holmes quoted from one of the newspapers and I chuckled quietly. "That's nice, but I rather liked the part that stated that _a true English gentleman like Mr. Sherlock Holmes should never be accused of such a disgusting crime. London wouldn't be as safe as it is without him and it's only logical that a man like him needs a friend like Doctor John Watson, without whom we - the public - wouldn't be treated to the stories about Mr. Holmes` impressive feats."_

I felt Holmes grin, before his lips were pressed to my forehead and wandered over my nose and to my lips from there. "I wonder what the Londoner public would say if they saw us like that."

I didn't get the chance to reply as his lips sealed mine and I slung my arms around Holmes' back as he leaned over me. The sounds of London's busy streets filtered into the room and spoke of the hours of an early afternoon, but Holmes and I still had to leave his bed for the day. Except for a short trip to the toilet and back, neither of us had bothered with getting up. Really, it wasn't like we had any plans for the day, it was raining outside and Holmes' injuries had healed so well that we didn't have to be mindful of them anymore. I had just taken the stitches out a couple of days ago, his back was still a little bruised, but otherwise fine and his eye looked completely normal once more. Staying in bed and enjoying our time together was really the only logical course of action for the day.

I returned Holmes' kiss lazily, moving my hand up and down his back, without feeling the need to hurry. A spark of desire ran down my spine, but I was certain that it wouldn't lead to anything, at least not for the next couple of hours. When Holmes pressed down against me, I felt that he wasn't hard either. It was no surprise, since both of us had just come about half an hour ago and neither Holmes nor I were young men anymore. In my twenties I would have cursed myself if I couldn't get it up when I was in bed with someone, but it didn't bother me with Holmes. It wasn't because I didn't enjoy what we did in bed - I had never been before on the receiving end of such a skillful mouth - but it wasn't the basis of our relationship. Actually, it felt more like a bonus and I adored every moment I was able to spend with Holmes like this, intimate and away from prying eyes.

"I wonder why Mrs. Hudson didn't come up yet to bring us lunch," I murmured as Holmes let go of my mouth and nipped on my throat.

Amused blue eyes looked up at me. "Oh, Mrs. Hudson told me, a couple of days ago, that we would have to call her from now on if we are in need of her service or tell her beforehand at what time we wish to take our meals. She assured me that she wouldn't come to our flat unannounced."

I frowned at that. Mrs. Hudson had never pried about our private business, but it had happened more often than not that she brought us tea in the afternoon, without confirming with us beforehand if we wanted some. It had never bothered me before, but I had to admit that I was relieved that we wouldn't have to worry about her coming upstairs and catching us kissing or in another compromising position.

"Oh and she also assured me that she would lock the front door at eight in the evening every day, so that we wouldn't be disturbed by clients in the middle of the night."

My frown deepened even farther at that. Of course, I was happy that we wouldn't have to worry about being caught by someone, but it also made me wonder why Mrs. Hudson was suddenly acting like this.

"I assume that our landlady came back sooner than we expected, from the theatre, three days ago and therefore got to hear your lovely voice, Watson. I just hope that she wasn't too shocked by your fool language. You can't deny that you were in the army, my dear friend."

I gaped at Holmes as the words sank in. "Are you... Mrs. Hudson knows?"

My friend shrugged and leaned in for another kiss. "It's the only logical explanation for her sudden change in routine and judging from her behavior, she doesn't mind at all - as long as she doesn't witness anything in person. She can still pretend that any noises she might hear are the result of an experiment of mine and most women are very good at pretending."

I didn't bother to tell Holmes that his view of women wasn't correct, since I had given up on this topic years ago, but instead pressed a kiss to his lips. "Maybe, she even approves."

At that, Holmes threw his head back and laughed. "Mrs. Hudson is going to approve of everything that keeps me away from my experiments and prevents me from blowing up the house."

I couldn`t argue with that point and we returned to our lazy kissing. It was impossible to tell how much time we spent like this, until he heard footsteps just outside of our flat. "Holmes," I whispered panicking, when the door to the living-room was opened and someone started to move through our flat. Even I was able to judge from the heavy footsteps that the intruder wasn't Mrs. Hudson, but that it had to be a man. I just hoped that it wasn't a police officer, who would haul as to jail as soon as he opened the door to Holmes' bedroom.

My friend drew back from me, but instead of hurrying to the door and locking it or scrambling up to get dressed, he just laid down next to me and covered both of our bodies with the blanket.

"If we are caught," I whispered just as the handle moved and the door was opened. I swallowed hard, my mind racing as it tried to come up with a harmless explanation for the fact that Holmes and I were lying in bed together... in the afternoon... naked...

"Really, Sherlock, I always knew that you didn't mind some decadence, but I wouldn't have expected even you to take it that far." I released a breath I hadn't been aware of holding, when Mycroft Holmes closed the door behind him and arranged himself a chair to sit down and face us. It wasn't my favorite imagination to be caught in bed with Holmes by his brother, but it was certainly better than the alternative. Besides, we were both covered completely by the blanket and just laying side by side, so it wasn't as mortifying as it could have been. After all, Holmes had made sure that we looked as presentable as possible, before his brother...

"You knew that he was coming!" I gestured to Mycroft Holmes, who wiped the sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief and gave the impression that it was the most normal thing in the world to speak with his brother and his male lover while they were still in bed.

Holmes only shrugged. "I got a telegram this morning that he would be stopping by, but since he already knows about us, I didn't see any reason to get dressed or spoil our day."

"George IV would have been proud of you, Sherlock. He was known for receiving visitors while still in bed as well. As far as I know, it wasn't even uncommon for him to have his lovers with him in bed, when he discussed the affairs of the state." I frowned a little at that. Not because I hadn't heard about George IV, who had lost Great Britain a lot of colonies and who was fairly unpopular for his excessive lifestyle, but because I didn't like to be compared to one of his concubines.

"Please, Mycroft, I'm neither as stupid as this man nor his Watson so dense as the King's women would have been if he didn't want them to outsmart him."

"I didn't mean to imply anything like that, Sherlock and you should know that. My apologizes, Doctor Watson." I relaxed back against the pillows and nodded, feeling at ease again, after hearing that none of the Holmes' brothers thought of me as some kind of decadent love affair.

"Why are you here, Mycroft? Is the British Empire in need of my assistance again? Sometimes, I dread the day when they will have to do without me, if they continue to be so incompetent."

"An interesting thought, Sherlock, but I don't think that now is the time to worry about this things, when you have just entered a new relationship."

"I would prefer to think that Watson's and my relationship has naturally developed to the next stage, since our friendship didn't change at all." I could have kissed Holmes for his words, but I didn't dare to in front of his brother. I didn't like public displays of affection and I doubted that Holmes was the type for it.

"Well spoken, Sherlock, but then a wedding isn't anything else than the development of a relationship and people - at least the wealthy ones - still celebrate it with a honeymoon."

My friend made to shake his head, but Mycroft Holmes held up his hand to stop his brother from speaking. "I know that you don't like holidays in the countryside, Sherlock, but I thought that it would be nice to spend a couple of weeks in the Bretagne. I've always made sure that the summer cottage of our parents was well cared for, but it hasn't seen a member of the Holmes' family in ages. You could spend some time at the beach, although I doubt that the sea is warm enough for swimming right now, the meals shall be delicious in that region and you wouldn't have to worry about locked bedroom doors in your house."

Two weeks, away from London, in a country, where we wouldn't get arrested if someone suspected that we were more than friends. There was no law against our kind of relationship as long as we kept it private and we would be free to fully relax... besides I hadn't been to the sea in ages. Still, I doubted that my friend would accept that offer. I had never seen him taking a holiday and he loved London more than seemed decent. I tried to think of something to say to convince Holmes to spend some time in France with me, when he beat me to it. "We will go to France in a couple of weeks - it should be a little warmer in June - but we will stay for three weeks," he glanced at me. "If that's fine with you, Watson."

For once, I wouldn't even have complained if he hadn't asked me for my consent, but I nodded nonetheless and Holmes gifted me with one of his rare smiles before turning back to his brother. "Thank you for this thoughtful gift, Mycroft."

I gathered from Holmes' words of gratitude that he also needed some carefree time away from London and I nodded my thanks to Mycroft Holmes as well. Maybe, I would even get the chance to put the salve with olive oil - bought in the apothecary - to good use, when we finally had the time to relax. I couldn't wait for the date of our departure to arrive.

OOO

The holiday was just what we had needed. I hadn't realised how tense I had been these past few weeks, until we arrived at the summer cottage of the Holmes' family. It felt like I was finally able to breathe freely again, after living in constant fear that someone would find us out. Certainly, it also had to do with giving testimony at the trial against Millais and becoming the center of public attention again. If Mrs. Hudson hadn't locked the front door to the house, we would have been caught in a compromising situation a few times by clients that came in the late hours of the evening. I just hoped that the hype would die down a little, while Holmes and I were away on holidays. Three weeks, I reminded myself with a smile, three weeks all to ourselves. Three weeks in which we could...

I stopped myself at that point as I glanced around the cottage and listened to the sounds of Holmes rummaging through the cupboards in the kitchen. The cottage was nice enough, it had two floors. The living-room - complete with armchairs, a sofa and a fireplace - was located on the ground floor, as was the kitchen. Two bedrooms were located on the second floor as well as the bathroom - I had been happy to learn that we had a water pump and didn't need to go outside for showering and there like. All in all, it was very nice - and I hoped that we would only need one of the bedrooms - but I didn't know if nice was enough.

I was confident that I would be able to enjoy myself here - walking on the beach, reading books, maybe getting a bicycle from the next little town and exploring the region - but...

Would Holmes be content with it? He didn't complain when I dragged him to bed earlier than he was used to, these days and he rather seemed to enjoy my company, but... Holmes also loved solving crimes and doing experiments and I just feared that he would be bored if he couldn't occupy his brilliant mind with his beloved puzzles for the duration of the holiday.

"Watson, you can still surprise me." My head jerked up at his voice. I hadn't noticed him entering the living-room. "I thought that this holiday was what you wanted and yet you look very unhappy and I must admit that I can't deduce the reason behind your feelings."

For one moment - a very brief one - I considered lying to Holmes, but I decided against it immediately. My friend would know at once if I was trying to fool him and I always preferred an honest argument to a well-meant lie. "Wasn't... isn't the holiday what you want as well?"

Holmes frowned at me, like he always did when a case managed to turn from boring to interesting. "Of course, it is what I want, Watson! Have you known me for doing something that I don't want to do?"

I shook my head. "No, but you do things you don't enjoy if you deem them necessary."

Holmes cocked his head to the side as he crossed the room to stand in front of me. "What could possible make it necessary for me to go away on a holiday?"

"I don't know," I shrugged and then added tentatively. "To make me happy?"

Holmes laughed, he truly laughed and it hurt. I crossed my arms in front of my chest and turned away from him, ready to tell him that the holiday was a bad idea and that we should go back to London, when he put a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "My dearest friend, I'm sorry I wasn't laughing at you. I was rather laughing at your misinterpretation that I would only go on a holiday to make you happy. Don't misunderstand me," Holmes held up his hand to stop me from interrupting him. "I would do a lot to make you happy and I would certainly endure an extended weekend away from London for your sake, but I know me well enough to tell you that it would be unbearable for both of us if I forced myself to spend three weeks in the countryside for your sake." I turned back around and gazed in Holmes' honest eyes. He was right of course, if Holmes got bored it could become unbearable especially if there was no way to stop him from going into one of his dark moods.

"I just thought," I started, not sure anymore what I had thought.

"Your worries are logical, although they are unfounded. I have informed myself quite well about this region and there are a lot of things to discover. Mycroft arranged for some chemical equipment to be brought to the cottage and I'm positive that I'll get a lot of interesting results about the fauna in this region. Then I also planned on sorting through my cases and maybe even write down a few findings about the most interesting ones and," he added with a brilliant smile that meant that the best was yet to come. "I'm certainly not against spending some time in your company, walking around the beach or sitting in front of the fireplace and enjoying some good vintage."

It was my turn to laugh. I laughed at my own stupidity that had made me believe that Holmes hadn't given this holiday some thoughts and I laughed with relief, because I had worried for nothing.

"See, Watson, we are certainly going to have three very entertaining weeks." I couldn't argue with that, so I just kissed him.

OOO

Holmes had been right - like he so often was - the holiday was great. We spent the first few days exploring the area around the cottage - which was very close to the sea - and Holmes collected a lot of plants that he wanted to use in his experiments. The little town close to the cottage had some interesting shops, including an old bookstore, where Holmes purchased the first edition of an - mostly - unknown chemist. Most evenings were spent in quiet, with Holmes experimenting or going through his old notes of cases and me reading on the couch.

I also discovered - to my great astonishment - that my friend could cook a decent meal. When asked why he had bothered with learning how to cook, Holmes told me in no uncertain terms that he couldn't bear to think that he was dependent on women for anything important. Some nights, we spent pleasuring each other and on other occasions, I went to bed alone, when Holmes was engrossed with an analysis. Everything was perfect, although I hadn't gotten around to using the salve, I had brought with me from London, yet. That changed after the first week of our holiday.

We were lying in bed together, when Holmes suddenly started rummaging through the contents of the drawer in his night stand and held out the pot of salve to me. "I'm very interested to learn what you had in mind with that, my dear Watson."

Heat crept into my cheeks as I snatched the pot away from him, glaring half-heartedly down at his grinning face. "Where did you get that from?"

Holmes shook his head, still grinning as he drew me on top of him, so that I was straddling his hips and breathed a kiss against my lips. "I noticed it, when we were still in London. You didn't use it, so you hadn't brought it for yourself and you didn't give it to me, so it wasn't meant as a gift. The only logical conclusion was that you bought it for us."

My heart swelled with love at this simple word. _U_ s, not Holmes and Watson, but _us_. A couple, a item that belonged together. I kept that sentimental thought to myself, as I didn't want to ruin the mood by making Holmes complain about my romantic attitude. Instead, I sealed his lips with mine, pouring all my feelings into the kiss as I arranged our bodies, so that we were lying on our sides, facing each other.

I certainly knew what I wanted to do with the salve - if Holmes agreed to it - but some kind of foreplay was certainly not misplaced. The salve was cool and slippery, when I dipped my fingers into the jar and it gave of the faint scent of olives, when it started to warm on my fingers. I traced a line from Holmes' collarbone to his nipples and grinned, when they hardened at my touch and a moan was torn from my friend's lips.

"I didn't expect you to use the salve there, but I might have been mistak... Oh!"

The surprised and delighted look on Holmes' face, when I grabbed both of our erections with my salve-covered hands was a sight to be remembered. I edged closer to Holmes, until our chests touched, kissing his face, everywhere I was able to reach, while I tasted for the pot of salve with my free hand. It took some efforts on my part, to move my hand on our erected lengths and coat my other hand with the salve at the same time, without losing my rhythm, but somehow I managed it. At least, Holmes didn't complain about any unnecessary fumbling. I kept stroking us both steadily, drinking in the pants and moans that fell freely from Holmes' lips and adding some of my own. The rhythm was enough to make me urge for release but not enough to actually bring me to orgasm. Perfect, for what I had in mind.

I traced my other hand down Holmes' back, until I reached his buttocks and allowed my fingers to slip between his cheeks. Anticipation walled up in my stomach as I tasted for the ring of muscle around his hole. I didn't get farther than tracing a slippery finger over it, before Holmes' body grew tense and he shoved against my chest.

Shocked, I let go of him. Holmes broke free of my loose grip and scrambled to get up, panic written all over his face. My heart sank as I became aware of this expression, but I had the presence of mind to grab his wrist, before he managed to get out of the bed.

"Let go, Watson!" His voice was cold and tense, commanding! Still, I ignored the order and sat up as well, holding onto his wrist for dear life, as I didn't know what would happen if I allowed him to leave me now.

"Holmes, wait!" He didn't turn towards me, but stopped his struggling against my grip. Instead he sat down on the edge of the bed, his feet on the cold floor.

"Holmes," I edged closer and let go of his wrist to put my hand on his shoulder. The muscles of his back were strained like the strings of his violin. "If you don't want me to touch you there, then it's fine. Just say it and I will never do it again."

The possibility that Holmes wouldn't like penetration had crossed my mind numerous times, since I had bought the salve. I had just thought that he would simply tell me that the act was off the card and then we would just keep on pleasuring each other like before. That violent reaction, though...

"Why did you want to penetrate me?"

I frowned, staring at the tense lines of Holmes' face and trying to deduce what was running through his brilliant mind. My actions should have been self-explaining, but obviously they hadn't been or my friend wouldn't ask me for clarification. At least that meant that Holmes hadn't been brutalized in the past, which had been my first thought, when he had shoved me away at that light contact. No, his eyes weren't flooded with the fear, brought on by a past trauma - I had seen that look often enough in soldiers to recognize it anywhere. Still, there was something in his gaze that I couldn't place, so I decided that a truthful answer would be the best way to go about this conversation. "I wanted to give you pleasure. I mean, I know that you won't find mentions of this act in regular books, but..."

"You read a book that's forbidden in Great Britain, which was written by the ancient Greeks with illustrations."

I nodded. "Yes, I just thought that you might like it."

Holmes turned his gaze towards me and I shrunk back as I noticed the angry expression on his face as his piercing eyes fixed me with their stare. "You really only wanted to give me pleasure, Watson? You didn't intend to make me surrender to you and then tell me that I just behaved like a woman and that I wasn't a real man, because I enjoyed it?"

I took a shaky breath at that. The accusations hurt, as it had never crossed my mind to make Holmes feel like this. Hell, I had never thought of a woman like this and why would I think so little of my dearest friend? Did Holmes really believe that I would think any less of him if he allowed me to touch his body in such an intimate way? Couldn't he understand that I just wanted to make him feel good and loved, instead of mocking him for his feelings?

My hands were clenched into fists as I made to get out of bed and away from Holmes. I still didn't know why he had reacted that way, but I didn't feel capable of having this conversation with him, right now. It just... hurt too much.

This time, it was Holmes' hand around my wrist that prevented me from running away. "My apologizes, Watson. I didn't want to accuse you of anything like that."

"But you just did, Holmes. You just did." I turned my profile towards him, not daring to meet his eyes just yet. The expression of my friend was downcast, he was gnawing at his lower lip - a habit I had never noticed before - and his eyes were turned inwards. A heavy sigh escaped my lips, before I sank back down on the bed next to him. I couldn't understand what was going on in Holmes' mind, but I realized that it might end badly if I left him to his own devices just now. His apology had sounded sincere and it was possible that Holmes had just chosen his words poorly. By God, it wouldn't be the first time that he couldn't express his feelings in a way that other people could understand him.

"I told you about Victor Trevor, Watson?" I blinked at Holmes, trying to follow his track of thoughts from this bed to his old friend from university, but came up blank and just nodded to his question. "We were more than friends," Holmes stared down in his lap. "For almost two years, Trevor and I were in a physical relationship." I put a hand on Holmes` shoulder, offering comfort as I started to see in what direction this story was leading "A few weeks, before he left for Ceylon, he and I... engaged in the same activities you were initiating, my dear friend. Afterwards he... found fault with me, because I rather enjoyed..." Holmes abruptly stopped and turned his head away from me and I felt something crumple to pieces in my chest. I hated to see this usually so proud and confident mean, rendered speechless, because he felt shame for... enjoying an intimate act with his former friend. Anger coursed through my veins, when I imagined how Holmes must have felt, when his lover had started to mock him, after he had just given himself to him.

"Idiot," I pressed out through clenched teeth. "He was a bloody idiot!"

"I'm sorry that I made you upset, it certainly wasn't my intention." Holmes looked miserable as I met his eyes and I swallowed hard as I tried to push my anger away. I would have enough time later to work my agitation out by taking a long walk at the beach or doing some target practice to clear my head. For now, it was more important to make Holmes feel better, as he appeared just as upset as I was. "You don't have anything to apologize for. I understand why you don't want to engage in penetrative intercourse and I'm sorry that I didn't ask you before if you..."

My little speech was interrupted as Holmes grabbed my shoulders and maneuvered us around until he was leaning against the headboard and I was straddling his hips. "You don't understand everything, my dear Watson, although I admit that you are very close to the truth." He closed his eyes for a brief moment, before continuing. "I'm not against penetrative intercourse, as I rather... enjoyed it." Heat crept into Holmes' pale cheeks, but he kept on holding my gaze. "I'm just not fond of being made fun of and called names, because I didn't behave like a... _proper man_."

I pressed a kiss to his lips and leaned my forehead against his, feeling his breathe ghosting over my face as we were so close to each other. "I would never do that to you, Holmes. I..." The words _I love you_ were on the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed them down. I didn't want my friend to believe that I just used them to manipulate him into having intercourse with me. Nothing could be farther from the truth, but I didn't want to risk another misunderstanding - not when Holmes was already upset. "I just want to give you pleasure, but if you fear that I could make fun of you," I had to take a deep breath, as the thought hurt, but I knew from experience that it was hard to let go of fears that ran so deep. I still experienced nightmares from my time in Afghanistan sometimes and woke up believing that I was dying in the hot desert, before I realized that I was in London. "I wouldn't be opposed to the idea of you... if you want to, you can explore every part of me. I give you my consent to... penetrate me."

Judging from the heat in my face, my blush had to be mortifying, but I didn't feel any regret for my words. I meant them, I had even fantasized about being with Holmes in that way. But as my friend had never shown any interest in taking me, I had thought that it was something he didn't want to do. Now, I realized that Holmes probably just didn't want me to feel the way he had felt, when Victor Trevor - he could be thank that he was away in Ceylon - had treated him so horribly.

"John," my head snapped up to meet his eyes as I heard my Christian name fall from his lips for the second time in our relationship. "You really mean it." There was such a tender and surprised smile on Holmes' lips that I had to press a gentle kiss to them. "Yes, I do."

Holmes shook his head, still looking completely baffled like he couldn't believe that this was real. "No one has ever... I would love to do that to you, my dearest friend, but," Holmes fingers tasted on the bed, before his hand closed around the pot of salve and held it out to me. "I want you to do it first. I want to feel you inside me, all of you and I... trust you."

I kissed him. It wasn't a brief kiss, but a deep and passionate one as I explored his mouth with my tongue and sucked his lower lip in my mouth, all the while trying to get my feelings back under control. I couldn't put into words, how much Holmes' trust meant to me and so I poured all the feelings I couldn't voice in my touches and kisses as I arranged us more comfortable on the bed with my friend on his back.

The conversation had affected us both noticeably, but it didn't take long for me to bring Holmes' manhood back to his former hardness with my lips. I was just contemplating that it would be the best to keep on teasing him with my mouth, while I prepared him as Holmes' hand pushed my head away from his erection. Startled I looked up at him and my breath caught in my chest.

Holmes was absolutely beautiful, his neck and chest flushed with heat, his hair disheveled and his lips red and swollen from kissing. My own manhood gave a throb at this picture of perfection and I felt my mouth ran dry as I met his eyes. It wasn't the first time I had seen Holmes passionate and mad with lust, but I couldn't remember that he had ever looked at me with so much trust and tenderness in his gaze at the same time.

"I don't want to be... distracted when you take me."

A shuddering breath left my lips as the meaning of these words sank in and left me aching for my dearest friend. "Of course, as you wish, Holmes," I agreed, my voice hoarse with lust and emotions as I settled between his legs and dipped my fingers into the salve. I had never done this before, but I wasn't the least bit repulsed as Holmes pulled his knees up and spread his legs a little wider to reveal his most intimate place to me. It was a little strange, but in a rather arousing way, as I circled my fingers over his hole, before entering him carefully. I didn't know how long it would take for him to be ready for me, but from the tightness that surrounded my finger, I gathered that I would have to be patient if I didn't want to hurt my friend.

Curiously, I wriggled my finger in Holmes and pushed in a little farther. There wasn't any protest from my friend, so I gathered that I wasn't doing too badly. I was only glad that I had made a habit - in my youth - of stretching, preparing and pleasuring the women, with which I wished to become intimate as well, after a disastrous first time with a young maiden. Without these experiences, I would have never learned how to keep my own desire in check and I would have made a mess of this first time with Holmes - literally.

"How does it feel?" I asked as I pressed my finger in deeper, curious if the ancient Greeks had been correct about a hidden spot in a man that gave him pleasure if pushed.

"It feels good, Watson, it's... Oh!"

Obviously the Greeks had been correct. I grinned to myself as I brushed lightly against the small knob I could feel against my fingers and watched in pride as Holmes' erection twitched at the contact. Even better were the moans that fell readily from my friend's lips and I was glad that I hadn't initiated this act in London. The whole neighborhood would have known of the nature of Holmes and my relationship by now.

Boldly, I added another finger to join the first one and made sure to stretch and prepare Holmes as best as I could, while spreading as much salve around as possible.

"Dear God," Holmes groaned on the bed as I added a third finger. "Watson, I'm not... a fragile maiden... do it, now!"

I glanced up at my friend, who propped himself up on his elbows and glared down at me. At least, I assumed that his expression was meant to be glare, as it was compromised by his heavy breathing and the lust in his eyes. Still, I didn't want to argue with him, especially as Holmes felt relatively loose to my touch now and my own manhood was throbbing with need. I gave the tender knob one last stroke, before withdrawing my fingers and applying some of the salve on my erection.

"Do you want to..." I gestured to Holmes, searching for the words to ask him if he preferred to be on his back or if he wanted to be on his front. Luckily, my dearest friend could still interpret my question correctly. "I want to see you, Watson." That settled it then.

I positioned myself between his legs and held my manhood with one hand as I leaned forward. A shudder went through my body as the tip of my erection pushed past the ring of muscle. Holmes felt much tighter than any women I had ever had and it was... perfect!

I propped myself on my arms, on each side of Holmes' body as I slowly pushed into him.

The stimulation was almost too much, but somehow I still managed to meet Holmes' eyes as I sank into his body, making sure that I didn't accidentally hurt him. A fleeting expression of discomfort passed his features as I pushed farther in, but he only nodded as I met his gaze and I took that to mean that I should continue. It felt incredible to be so close to Holmes - to actually be _in_ him - and I had to force myself to go slowly and not thrust into him like a madman. My chest was heaving with the effort of forcing air into my lungs and my arms were shaking with the effort of holding myself upright, by the time I was finally fully seated in Holmes.

Trembling with the effort to stay still, I raised my head to meet Holmes' eyes. I would never forget the expression mirrored in them, not as long as I lived. They were filled with wonder, marveling at our position and laced with desire and tenderness at the same time. I had never seen something so beautiful in my whole life.

"For God's sake, Watson... move!" I grinned, it was so like him to order me around although I should be the one in command right now and I loved him all the more for it.

Testing his reactions, I moved my hips in circles and only stopped, when a loud moan echoed from his throat. Perfect, I had found the right angle to give him as much pleasure as possible then, because it was all about that: Giving pleasure to Holmes and proving to him how much he meant to me. Smiling a little at that sentimental thought, I started to move my hips in earnest, drawing back and then thrusting in again. Holmes shuddered, breathing harshly through his mouth, his eyes fixed on me and I hoped that he was going to memorize every second of our time together. I leaned forward on my arms, bringing my face on the same level with Holmes' and thrust again.

"Oh yes... Jo...hn!"

I hadn't realized how much I enjoyed him calling me by my Christian name, but I wanted to hear it again. My name should fall from his lips, when he reached the peak of his lust and I did everything in my power to make this fantasy come true. I started with deep and slow thrust, making my friend wriggle on the bed and the lust building up in him, but denying him fulfillment just yet.

"Ah, please!"

Holmes almost never pleaded, certainly not in this deep, desperate voice that made me want to cater to his every wish, which wasn't a hardship, right now. I kept thrusting harder and faster, holding my body close to Holmes, so that his erection could rub against my stomach as I gave everything to him.

"Kiss... John!" I complied, smashing my lips to his in a slobbery intimation of a kiss, complete with clattering teeth and too much tongue and it was perfect.

"You are... fantas...tic... Sherlock!" It was the first time I used his given name like that and had I known about the effect it had on my friend, I would have done it much sooner. His eyes widened in surprise, before his hips buckled under me. I felt him tightened around me as his manhood twitched against my stomach.

"John!" Holmes' voice cracked as his orgasm crashed all around him and I was swept away by it. His voice, his orgasm... everything, the sensations were too much as I followed my friend to the heights of pleasure and spent myself in him.

The next thing I remembered, I was lying on top of Holmes, my chest heaving with the effort to gather enough air as I propped myself up on my elbows. I would have crashed down on Holmes again, if his hands hadn't steadied my shaking form and allowed me to draw out of him, before I collapsed next to him.

"My dear Watson," Holmes' voice sounded amused as he put an arm around me in an half embrace. "We should have started with this years ago if you are exhausted from it so easily in your age."

I couldn't find it in me to be offended by his statement as I rolled onto my side to lay face to face with my friend. "Maybe, I am just not used to it anymore," I pressed out and then as an afterthought I breathed a kiss to Holmes' lips. "It was... mind-blowing. You were beautiful. Perfect."

"So much praise, my dearest friend, aren't you afraid that it will get to my head?" His voice was teasing, but Holmes' expression was utterly pleased at the compliment and I just pressed another kiss to his lips. "Just promise me never to delete this first time."

A strange expression passed over Holmes' face and he inched a little closer to me. "I have never deleted a moment I have spent with you, Watson." Holmes' voice was husky, thick with emotions and I noticed the truth for what it was in his unusual expressive eyes.

"I love you, too," I whispered against his ear and felt an answering smile on his lips. "You observe."

I chuckled at that. Trust Holmes to bring such a statement into a romantic moment. "Yes, when the outcome is worth the effort."

I almost expected him to give me a lecture about the importance of deductions, but instead Holmes held me even closer and snuggled his nose in the crook of my neck. It wasn't the first time that Holmes had cuddled up to me like that and like every other time, I didn't remark on it for fear that he wouldn't do it again if I said anything at all. I just bathed in the warmth that radiated from his body and filled my lungs with the scent of him as my eyes grew heavy.

I was half asleep when I heard his whispered words. "I'm so happy, John."

Sleep claimed me with a huge smile on my face as I vowed to ensure Holmes' happiness for the rest of my life.

 _I could add more pages to this story, but I won't, as I have already written down all the cases Holmes and I solved, when we still resided in London. Besides - no matter how selfish it sounds - I wish to keep the memories of years of shared love to myself to only relive them together with my dearest friend and lover. But let me reveal one more thing, before I lock these pages away - and Holmes comes back from his bees - I have managed to keep my vow from all these years ago and I intend to keep it this way._


End file.
